


Behind Closed Doors

by starvonnie



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alt Modes, Alternate Universe, Bulges, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dubious Consent, Interfacing Mods, M/M, Model!Hot Rod, Modeling, Secret Relationship, Sex Work, Sex Worker!Hot Rod, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Stomach Bulge, belly distention, idk what to even call this kink, if there even is a name, interfacing programming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2018-08-18 14:15:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8164769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starvonnie/pseuds/starvonnie
Summary: Cybertronians go to Earth, and they scan our cars.  But what happens when they return to Cybertron?  Or when they just want a new look?  Models, of course.  
Hot Rod is an up-and-coming model who happens to run into Megatron, a business mech who just came into some new wealth.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm used to writing Rodimus so I'm sure that I'm going to accidentally write that instead of Hot Rod. If you happen to catch that mistake please let me know!

The stage erupted with fireworks as Hot Rod revved his engine and did a final donut, racing off through the curtains.  Once he was out of view of the crowd he transformed and skidded to a stop, slamming face-first into the cushiony wall.  It took most of the impact, and protected his precious limited edition alt mode, but it still hurt.  A full-frame bruise that left no visible marks.

His manager, Tracks, a once-model, peeled him off the wall and said, "Okay, Hot Rod, enough rest we _must_ get you cleaned up!  That big finish is sure to bring in the big bucks tonight!  You're going to be a _star_!"

 _Rest_?  Since when did hitting a wall count as rest?  But he didn't protest as a group of waxers and buffers all but swept him off of his pedes and onto a slab where they immediately got to work.

He had never minded being pampered after the show-- far from it.  It was probably the second best part of his job (he had just finished the first).  But this time it was so rushed.  He was usually done much sooner, and he was still surprised they had given him the final spot.  Usually someone like Knock Out would get to show off the flashiest new alt modes.  So now the buffers felt like they were searing into his plating.  Hot Rod wouldn't be surprised to find himself completely stripped of paint.

When they all but threw him off of the table and placed him in front of the mirror, he found he still had all of his flames.  Holographic this time.  They sparkled almost blindingly in the light.  He looked _good_.  He might actually manage to bring in some famous clientele.  Maybe even a _senator_. 

"My stars, aren't you a vision?" Tracks said proudly.

Hot Rod puffed his chest out, and was about to open his mouth to say something when he was whisked off again.  Thrown right into the fray of potential clients.  He quickly covered up his startled expression with a smile, but he found it hard to keep it up when he wasn't immediately approached.  Sure, he didn't have name recognition, at least not yet, but he was wearing the most anticipated alt mode of the show!  That alone should have at least one bot interested.

He started walking.  All part of the job.  Sway your hips in just the right way, smile enough to seem interested, and above all else, be _flirty_.  If he couldn't convince someone to buy a scan he should at least be able to bring in some test driving revenue.

Usually someone would end up interested in taking him for a spin.  He was young and lean, and easy on the optics.  Well, except for his paint job.  But that was often a conversation starter.  One day he hoped to be known for it.  In the same way that Starscream was known for his heels.  Tracks was always trying to get him so go for something a little less flashy.  If he toned down his paint job he could be considered for the luxury models as well.  But he just couldn't give it up.  Giving up his flames would be like forcing Starscream to model a _grounder_.  The _audacity_.  To think that _Starscream_ would ever want to drive around in the _dirt_ and smell like _burnt rubber_.

Primus, if Hot Rod didn't love that smell, though.  Every time he did a burnout he felt so horny afterwards it was like an aphrodisiac.  But it never managed to hold through all the primping for the after party.  Even this time, when there had been so little time in between.

It didn't matter.  If a prospective client showed interest in him his programming would prepare him.

Hot Rod lingered near the bar.  If he stood here long enough someone was bound to buy him a drink.  He would just buy one himself but he wasn't allowed to.  Not while he was on the clock, anyways.  A drunk model was a good model only when the drunkenness was someone else's idea.  He'd already tried pointing out that one drink wouldn't even get him buzzed, but Tracks had quickly shut him down.  He told him if he truly wanted a drink, he'd have to work for it.  After all, Tracks had always been able to get some mech to buy him a drink when he wanted one.

Sighing, and pushing away a thought that maybe he wasn't cut out for this, he strut across the room.  He caught a few pairs of optics following him, and tried to meet them with a smile that would rival Knock Out, but when he finally found them they looked away.  One pair he lost to someone who wasn't even modelling anything _new_.  He was some washed-up mech barely clinging to this job.  It looked like he hadn't even gotten a buff after the show. 

Now Hot Rod was _mad_.  He made sure to internalize it, though.  The last thing anyone wanted was an angry model.  He'd be labelled as a diva and never be in another show.  Let alone be the star of it.  And he _was_ the star.  Whatever happened, no one could take that away from him.

But he sure as hell didn't feel like a star.

Hot Rod was starting to get hungry.  The service bots passing by him offered tempting treats that he could, in theory, take, but unless he was offered one he had to get approval from his manager.  And even then he wouldn't get enough to satisfy.  He had to woo someone into buying him a drink and _quick_.

Walking right into the throng, he found a space between bots to try and get some attention.  What he was going to do wasn't exactly flirty, but it would at least get a few bots to look at him, and if they looked at him maybe they'd finally see that he was worthy.

He started with a stretch.  Reaching up as high as he could, arching his back and flaring his plating, even letting out a little moan when he released some tension in his protoform.  This alt mode was quite a snug fit.  Maybe no one wanted it because it was a tad on the small side.  Maybe he was just too short to be noticed.  But he was covered in red, orange, and gold glittering paint and as far as anyone else was concerned he might as well have been a piece of furniture.  No, scratch that, he was a light fixture.  Bots were at least using the benches at the side of the room.

Hot Rod twisted to one side, and found someone staring at him.  _Finally_.  And she looked like she would fit his model with very few modifications.  It was always best to scan a mode that would keep the size and the integrity of the model.  Otherwise there could be unexpected complications. 

"Hey."  Hot Rod flashed a winning smile at her, turning to face her and putting a hand on his hip. 

She excused herself from the conversation she was having and walked over to him, looking him up and down as she did.  Her face gave nothing away and by the time she was in front of him Hot Rod wasn't sure if he should be trying to sell his frame or trying to sell his _frame_.

"Do you like what you see?" Hot Rod asked, leaving the question ambiguous.

"Mm.  Could I see the specs?"

It was getting hard to maintain his smile, but he managed to keep it bright while he retrieved the data file from his subspace.  He handed it to her and his spark immediately fell when she gave her thanks and walked away.

If she was actually a serious buyer, she would have stayed and talked for a while.  And she clearly wasn't interested in going for a test drive.  That had been a pity conversation.  Hot Rod had never been pitied in his entire career.  Not even when he was a rookie.  Granted, there were some bots who only went for amateurs, but even after he had lost the sparkle of his newness, he had always had at least one person approach him right off the bat.

The crowd shifted and Hot Rod caught sight of himself in the mirror.  Try as me might, his panic had shown through a little on his face.  He did his best to hide it, and had almost convinced himself it was genuine.  Though, the longer he looked, the harder it was to _not_ panic.  In the thrill of a new scan and the painting and the waxing and everything, the alt mode had looked fantastic.  Angular, sleek, and _fast_.  But now, his paint didn't seem to glitter as brilliantly.  It just looked tacky.  And while the angles looked okay when he was in his alt mode, on his frame they just looked bad.  Like he was made of triangles haphazardly glued together.  No wonder no one was approaching him.

Primus, he wished he could just leave.  But he was contractually obligated to hang around until someone either paid for a session with him or everyone else left.  If literally one potential client was left he still couldn't leave.  None of them could.  Well, maybe some of the true stars.  If you reached a certain level of fame you got a little more leeway.  Especially if you made it a case for your health.

Health which Hot Rod could not maintain if he ran out of fuel.  He had no choice.  He went to comm Tracks to all but beg for a ration, when he heard his voice over the crowd.

"So, Senator Proteus, did you enjoy tonight's show?" 

"I would have preferred to see a few more flight frames, but that aside, yes," Proteus answered.  "I saw some very promising alt modes.  I might even scan one."

Senators were the worst, personality-wise anyways.  All they were good for was their money, but they had so much of it they could do whatever they wanted.  Hell, if any of them wanted they could buy up every scan privilege for every model shown that night and still have enough credits to afford themselves a small harem of models.  So they could act however they wanted, and Hot Rod had to pretend to be okay with it. 

Once, one of them had looked Hot Rod up and down, and before they had even said "hello" they asked, "How much?"  To which Hot Rod had to smile and explain that prices would be negotiated by his manager.  Like they always were.  With every model.  They were just meant to be pretty, not do hard things like _math_.  Although, it was kind of nice to not have to know.  Especially tonight, when his rates would have gone up from the alt mode.  Though at this point they'd probably be better off offering a sale to try and break even.

"Well, I know someone who I think you'll be _very_ interested in," Tracks said, his words getting closer while Hot Rod's tank churned.  Both in disgust and in hunger.

"Just so long as it's not that flame covered one," Senator Proteus said.  His words were a relief,  but the disdain in his voice made Hot Rod bristle.  Not to mention that his tank was cramping, knowing he wouldn't even get energon out of him.  "The paint job is garish enough without that hideous alt mode."

He just _had_ to rag on the paint, didn't he?  Couldn't just say that he hated the alt mode.  Well, frag him.  The flames looked awesome and his old aft wouldn't know style if it punched him in the face.

"Oh, yes, of course."  Tracks only sounded flustered for a microsecond.  "Don't you worry, Senator, I had someone more to your taste in mind."

As they passed by, Proteus somehow oblivious to his glittering paint job, Tracks gave Hot Rod a look that was both pitiful and disappointed.  Even with his manager looking to set him up with someone he was still unsuccessful.  This night was supposed to put him in the spotlight but it looked like it was going to do just the opposite. 

Hopefully everyone would just forget about him again after this.  Being unknown sucked but it was better than being known for an alt mode flop.  If he was still unknown he might get another chance.  As long as he could keep the blame on the alt mode.  But he knew that they'd blame him.  He just didn't have the stuff to sell alt modes.  They would tell him that even a rookie could have sold it, but it was honestly not that great.  Even the engine specs weren't much better than what was on the market, and for much cheaper.

He was so lost in his self-pity, that he didn't notice the mech in front of him.  And after apologizing, and rubbing what was likely a new dent in his helm-- Tracks was going to _kill_ him-- he wondered how in the hell he didn't see him.  The mech was _huge_.

"I should be the one apologizing."  His voice was deep and a little ragged.  It made Hot Rod melt.  He tilted Hot Rod's chin up, examining his forehelm.

Hot Rod couldn't look away from those _optics_.  It was so rare to see red optics around here.  Which meant he was likely a foreigner.  Either from Kaon or Tarn.  No, he _had_ to be from there.  Not even the most expensive optic mod would get them to look so genuine.  And now that he thought about it, he definitely heard a Tarnian accent.  Albeit a faint one.

"No harm done," he concluded, fingers retreating.

"Thank you!  Uh..."  Hot Rod stepped from pede to pede.  Why was he getting so flustered over this guy?  He'd had to woo countless high-class bots before-- some random mech at an after party shouldn't be so difficult.  He half-turned away, the light catching his plating and making it look like it was actually on fire.

"My, you certainly are... _flashy_."

Was that a good "flashy" or a bad "flashy"?  Hot Rod thought flashy always meant good.  It wasn't like the general populous was expected to take on their paint jobs.  They were often covered in paint that wouldn't cut it for general wear.  It added _pizzazz_. 

Hot Rod spent so much time wondering whether or not that word had a negative connotation that he hadn't realized he had just been standing there.  With his processor somewhere in his tank, he stuck his arm out almost straight with his hand far too flat.  He realized a moment too late that a handshake wasn't flirty.  The only hand this mech should be shaking was his manager's when he made a sale.

Thankfully, the mech took it, giving it a firm shake, where Hot Rod's arm was noodle-y.  But he was smiling.  And it wasn't a pity smile.

"You were the finale, weren't you?"

Hot Rod managed to smile even though it was quite obvious that _yes_ he had been the finale!  No one else had flames on them!  Was he really that forgettable?

"Yes, I was." 

"Do you have a name?" 

"Hot Rod."  Primus, had he forgotten all of his training?  He was making every mistake they taught you not to make.  But he still had his attention.  Somehow.

A laugh rumbled through his frame.  It probably got lost in his intake before it made it to his mouth.  He was easily twice with size of Hot Rod.  It would take some tweaking to get his protoform to take to his mode, but it was doable.  He'd never get to be as small as Hot Rod, though.  Hopefully he could convince him on a sale.  Hopefully he had the money for it.  If not, surely he had enough for a test drive.  And Hot Rod was well-equipped with mods to help him with the size issue there as well.

"Your name suits you.  In more than one way."

Hot Rod hoped this mech's suave demeanor would rub off on him.  Because it was making him blush.  How he hadn't already walked away in complete disinterest, Hot Rod didn't know.  Even when he was bringing his A game bots had been ignoring him.  Now he was messing up and suddenly he couldn't look away.

"I'm Megatron," the mech introduced himself.  He extended his hand for a handshake again, and seemed to realize his faux pas when Hot Rod gave him an awkward smile.  But before he could take his hand back, Hot Rod shook it again, eliciting a chuckle from the both of them.

Hot Rod kept the hold on his hand for a moment longer, making circles with his thumb on the back of it while he gave Megatron a flirty smile.  He could still save this.  He let it drop when he saw his face flush, and then put his hand on his hip, jutting it out as far as possible without falling over.

"So, would you like a drink?" Megatron offered and Hot Rod could have kissed him right then and there.

"Sure," Hot Rod said as nonchalantly as he was able.  But inside he was giddy with the thought of refreshment.  It was damn near criminal that they put them out on stage with high-performance fuel that burned out quickly, especially with all the work their engines underwent, and then didn't even offer them a top up after the show.  He knew why.  It was so that they would work extra hard to earn the favour of their clients.  It was still dumb, though.

Hot Rod linked his arm through Megatron's, like he always did, and though his client seemed surprised at the contact at first, he went with it.  Crooking his arm so it looked more natural than Hot Rod clinging to him.

This was usually the time where Hot Rod would start chatting him up.  Asking him what he liked about the show, if there were any alt modes he was interested in.  They were encouraged to talk up other models as well as their own.  If the bot the client was truly interested was busy, they could still make a sale on the alt mode.  Or potentially two sales.  But all he wanted was a drink.  He was a much better employee on a full tank.

"What would you like?" Megatron asked.  Bless his spark, this was a true gentlemech. 

"Whatever you're having," Hot Rod said the script line.

"Oh, well, I'm not thirsty."  Megatron smiled awkwardly.  "You can get whatever you like."

Hot Rod was at a loss.  He was doing his best to get the conversation back on script but Megatron was going off-book at every turn.  It was next to impossible to stay in character around him.

"Well... I like sweet drinks," Hot Rod said shyly.  He was finding it hard to meet Megatron's gaze for very long.  The red was so intense.  Beautiful, but intense.  But he saw his smile out of the corner of his optic.

"Excuse me."  Megatron waved the bartender over.

"What can I get for you two?" they asked.

"Nothing for me, thank you."  Primus this was the most polite bot Hot Rod had ever seen at one of these shows.  He was starting to worry that he wasn't rich after all.  "But this pretty little thing would like something sweet."  Oh, what did it matter?  He was buying him a drink and complimenting him.  He might not make commissions tonight, but he'd get his regular pay. 

"Coming right up."

While his drink was being mixed, Hot Rod did something that was usually reserved for bots who had already paid for more than just a drink.  Tracks would have scolded him after the show if he saw him.  He leaned his helm onto Megatron's arm and closed his optics.  He just... really wanted to do it.  He wanted to show his appreciation without being too obvious about it. 

When the bartender handed the drink over, he handed it to Megatron, who gave him a confused look at first before taking it and then passing it to Hot Rod.

He wanted to chug it.  The thirst was so intense that taking a dainty sip felt like torture.  It was so sweet, though.  Sweet enough to make him want to savour it.  So he was stuck, knowing what he had to do, half-wanting to do that, while his tank screamed at him to down it faster.  Primus, he hoped he wouldn't keel over in front of the only mech interested in him.

"Are you alright?" Megatron asked, watching his conflicted expression.

"It's _really_ good," Hot Rod said.  And it was.  Most of his clients either didn't like sweet drinks or pretended not to so they could seem more "refined."  Honestly, the whole upper class and their obsession with being "proper" was exhausting.  The next sweet sip turned into a gulp, and he couldn't stop the pained expression when he forced himself to stop.

With a chuckle, Megatron turned to the bartender and said, "On second thought, I'll have one as well."

While he was turned the other way, Hot Rod was able to down a good amount.  At least enough to turn the screaming of his tank to more of an agitated grumble.  He was back to the demure sips when red optics fell upon his face once more.  They were so beautiful Hot Rod couldn't take it. 

"Your optics are beautiful," he said truthfully.  Not exactly by the book, but no one could fault him for giving his client a compliment.

"Oh."  The red of his optics bled into his cheeks.  He turned his helm away a little, bashful.  "Thank you."  He seemed relieved when the bartender handed him his drink.  Then he looked flustered, but only for a moment.  "Yours are beautiful, as well."

"I wasn't fishing for compliments."  This bot sure did bring out the honesty in Hot Rod.  "I just thought you should know.  Red optics are somewhat of a rarity around here."

"As are blue, in Tarn."  Megatron leaned in, and Hot Rod had a moment of panic when he thought he was going to kiss him.  One, because they weren't meant to.  Not while they were still at the party.  Two, because he wasn't sure if he would stop him if he tried.  But all his mouth did was speak.  "This drink is for you.  It seems like you're pretty thirsty."

Hot Rod's field flared with gratefulness.  He immediately snapped it back to his frame, unable to believe he'd made that rookie mistake.  But Megatron just chuckled.

"You're welcome," he rumbled, before righting himself.

In a definitely not-cute way Hot Rod downed the rest of his drink, feeling immensely better.  It wasn't like anyone beyond Megatron was watching him, anyways.  And he only chuckled and handed him the full glass while taking the empty.

"If you need more, just ask," Megatron told him.

"Thank you.  I think I'll be good for now." 

Hot Rod was truly thankful for his kindness, but he was at a loss of what to do.  This wasn't a usual client.  It seemed like all the rules he had been following for so long were useless on him.  He couldn't just be _himself_.  Who even was he anymore?

"So, have you seen any alt modes you're interested in?"  Hot Rod half hoped that he didn't like his.  He would feel bad selling it to him.  Especially if he bought it out of pity.

"Oh, I just came to watch the show, I'm quite happy with my alt mode." Megatron smiled as he took hold of Hot Rod's hand. "But I must admit, you have the most beautiful alt mode out of anyone here."

Losing his composure once again, though it wasn't like he'd had a firm grasp on it, and blushing fiercely as the mech placed a kiss on his hand, Hot Rod demurely turned his helm away.  He knew he was lying, but he loved it anyways.  But if this mech wanted to get him in the berth he'd have to be a big spender.  _Bigger_ if the organizers weren't even going to get a sale out of him.  Especially with the threat of him damaging the alt mode.  Beyond the initial prototype, Hot Rod was the only one wearing it.  And it would be limited to just five buyers.  But he was easy on the optics.  Hot Rod wouldn't mind getting with him.  He prayed that he might have the funds.  Before the party started to fizzle out and he was picked by someone who didn't get their first or second choice.

"Well, enjoy it while it lasts," Hot Rod told him.  "I'm never in one alt mode for too long."

"That must be exhausting, scanning so many modes."

Hot Rod shrugged.  "It's just part of the job.  But I can make any alt mode look good."

"Mm."  Megatron's optics coasted down Hot Rod's frame and back up.  "Have you ever tried a flight frame?"

"A few times, yeah.  A few shows from now I'm showing off a new jet, actually."

Megatron's smile grew.  "I might just have to come to that."

It seems Hot Rod had made himself a fan.  Well, there were worse bots.  Hopefully he wouldn't turn stalker like some of his others.

"I've heard it's hard to come down once you've had wings.  Do you miss them?"

Hot Rod shrugged and made a so-so gesture with his hand.  "Yes and no.  Flight frames are fun but I'd much rather keep my wheels on the ground."  He kept forgetting that he was talking to a client.  After taking another sip of his drink, he added, "Grounders are more sturdy.  They can take a pounding."  He added a wink for good measure.

A much heavier blush reddened Megatron's cheeks.  He turned away for a moment, and Hot Rod couldn't help but think about how cute he looked.  A big business mech turned into a flustered mess.

Hot Rod had nearly finished the rest of his drink by the time he managed to recover himself. 

Now with the suave smile back on his face, he asked, "If I wanted some _private_ time with you, who would I have to speak to?" 

He was asking so nicely, and he hadn't tried to touch him inappropriately even _once_.  Which was incredibly frustrating because he was one of the few clients who he actually _wanted_ to touch him.

"My manager."  Hot Rod nodded in his direction.  "He'll arrange everything."

"The blue one over there?" Megatron asked.

"Yep.  Red face.  Can't miss him.  But I'll certainly miss you while you're gone."  Hot Rod blew a kiss at him as he turned to go.

The smile seemed frozen on Megatron's face.  He turned away fully before Hot Rod could see it change, if it did, and he was rewarded getting to watch his aft as he crossed the room.  The mech was stunning from every angle.  And for once Hot Rod couldn't wait to be alone with a client.

An annoying popup from Hot Rod's programming appeared on his HUD.  He dismissed it angrily, and had to quickly cover up his lapse in control when his anger appeared on his face, too.  He wished they'd only be prompted from touch.  It would still give them plenty of time to prepare and make it seem natural.  Most of their clients made sure to indulge in _some_ foreplay.

He hoped he made this sale.  He wouldn't be a complete failure if he at least got this. 

Hot Rod watched them talk, unable to decipher anything that they were actually saying.  Then Megatron gestured over to Hot Rod, his charming smile making him weak in the knees.  He took another big gulp of his drink when he was sure neither of them were looking.  But he was forced back to sips when they started walking over to him. 

Megatron's optics were fixed on Hot Rod.

"--shanix a session, with this one," Tracks finished saying as he stopped in front of him.  "I can give you a list of his mods, the type of fuel he--"

"How much for the entire evening?" Megatron interrupted, lifting his gaze from Hot Rod for a moment.  When he got no answer, he turned towards him and repeated, "How much for the evening?"

"I, well, _sir_ , we don't normally do--"

Megatron pulled a card from his subspace and waved it in front of Tracks' face.  Continuing to smile at him, he said, "I presume this will cover the costs?"

Sputtering, Tracks snatched up the iridescent card and said, "Of course, sir.  I will show you to your private room."

Megatron turned to Hot Rod, and he found himself transfixed by his ruby red optics.  "Actually, I'd like to know how much it would cost to take him to my hotel room for the night."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so much shorter! And sorry I took so long between updates! I'm doing NaNoWriMo informally (I'm just aiming to write 50000 words this month in general) so with any luck this will get updates more frequently for the next little while.

"I'm not staying far from the venue," Megatron added.

Hot Rod's spark plummeted into his tank.  He was glad that Megatron hadn't ordered him any engex, because he might have purged right there on the showroom floor.  It was never a good sign when they wanted to take a model off-site.  Best case scenario, they just had some weird fetish they wanted to indulge in without the threat of prying optics.  Worst case, his frame would be on every news channel the next morning, covered in his spilled energon.  Not everyone approved of what they did here, and not everyone was so complacent in their disapproval.

If only the mech didn't have the money.

"O-of course, sir.  Whatever you'd like.  For a fee, of course."  Tracks smiled his winning smile.

"Money is no object," Megatron informed him.

"In that case, I'll go run some numbers!"  At the very least Tracks could try to hide his excitement.  Maybe show a little concern?  Sympathy?  _Anything_?  But the thought of his cut of Hot Rod's commissions had him practically skipping off to process the payment.

Which left Hot Rod forcing his smile when Megatron looked at him again.

"Would you like another drink before we go?" he asked him, as polite as ever.  But now Hot Rod was just trying to decipher his words.  Was the politeness just a cover?  What were his real motives?  It's not like it mattered, though, unless he wanted to ruin his image, and perhaps his career, over something that might not even be an issue.  He had to keep quiet.

"I'm alright, thanks."  He was already having trouble keeping what he had drank down.

"You're shaking."  A hand rested gently on Hot Rod's shoulder.  Now he was wishing he would try for something a little less appropriate.  At least then he'd know his true intentions.

"Oh, uh, just cold."  Hot Rod rubbed his upper arms and feigned shivering.  Even he didn't think he was very convincing.

"Uh... hm."  Megatron looked around the room.  "It's warmer at the hotel," he said after not being able to find a solution.  "It's not far, really."

"That's good," Hot Rod said with a smile.  Inside he was anything but smiling.  That line always had bots hugging him or at least throwing an arm around him to try and warm him up.  Even if he didn't actually need the heat.  This was all pointing towards _secretly wants to kill you_ and it terrified Hot Rod.  If he was as rich as his card said he was he'd probably get away with it, too. 

"Everything's in order," Tracks said upon his return.  "We expect you to have him back by tomorrow morning, sir.  But if you would like to keep him for longer than that just let me know, and we can work out an additional payment."  With practised flair, Tracks handed Megatron his business card along with his payment card.

"Thank you.  I'll bring him back in one piece."

That sounded like something someone who wasn't going to bring him back in one piece would say.  If he was going to bring him back at all.

"Shall we?"  Megatron swept his arm out in invitation, his other hand hovering behind Hot Rod, just barely touching him.

Hot Rod nodded.  He tried to keep up the smile, but it was faltering.  It was probably worthless at this point, anyways.

A message from Tracks popped up on Hot Rod's HUD.  It read: _This guy is_ loaded _.  Apparently he's the new arena coordinator for the Kaon Gladiatorial Arena.  Don't scare him off!_

Well, gee, it was great to know how worried Tracks was.  Though, he was an interesting case.  Certainly the first of Hot Rod's clients.  Perhaps that's why he seemed so different.

Hopefully it was just a weird fetish.  Mech like him?  He's gotta keep his reputation.  Can't go around fragging people he knows and letting them know about his weird sexual thing.  So he hires a prostitute.  Whatever.  He would get a hefty commission for the night.  As long as he didn't end up dead.  A possibility Hot Rod could not keep out of his mind as he was escorted out of the venue.

Okay.  He could do this.  Hot Rod Forced himself to focus on keeping his ventilations calm as he was led out of the venue with the lightest touch of a hand on the small of his back.  A hand so much bigger than his it almost took up his whole back.  It worried him, though, when it fell away after they had left the building.  Especially when Megatron didn't attempt any other contact.

It became a cycle of convincing himself that he would be fine and then convincing himself otherwise.  He began overanalyzing every aspect of the evening.  Overall, he had seemed different, which didn't always point to bad but was definitely a red flag.  He should have realized this sooner.   

"You're quiet," Megatron noticed.

Hot Rod jumped at his words, fearfully glancing at his face.  "Oh, just... um..."  He put his arm around Megatron's waist, and though he seemed shocked at first, he didn't seem disgusted.  One more point for the not-going-to-kill-him list.  A second for when Megatron's arm fell around his shoulders.  It allowed Hot Rod to relax at little more.  Now it just depended on how weird the fetish was.  Hopefully it was something tame that he just assumed no one else wanted.  That was the best, best-case scenario.

"Tired?" Megatron surmised.

 _So tired_.  He couldn't let a client know that, though.  "Oh, no," Hot Rod waved his hand dismissively.  The energon would kick in eventually. 

"We're almost there," Megatron said with a knowing smile.  He gently rubbed Hot Rod's shoulder.

It didn't matter.  This would still be the longest walk of Hot Rod's life.  And potentially the last walk of his life.  Not really how he had expected to go.  Hot Rod saw himself going out in a blaze of fire to rival his paint job.  Probably from a faulty alt mode or something.  Now _that_ would be cool.  This would just be... sad.

Megatron gently tugged on Hot Rod's arm to turn him toward a grandiose set of stairs leading up to the city's most expensive hotel.  No doubt that this was where most of their clients were staying.  But it was a very rare opportunity for a model to be here.  Starscream, sure, but he had that air of regality that said "I belong here."  Hot Rod had fragging _flames_ on his plating.  He knew he stood out.  But he really didn't need the doormech looking him up and down as if he was deciding his value.  He would have given him a dirty look if he wasn't under Megatron's arm.  Or too busy taking in all of the _gold_.

The lobby was covered in the stuff.  Chairs, desks, the _massive_ chandelier on the ceiling.  And it wasn't like Hot Rod's gold.  It was a classy gold.  The kind that wouldn't flake off if you picked at it.  The kind that Hot Rod could use in his own paint job and was having a hard time not picking off right then because it was a nervous habit and, damn it, there was plenty to be nervous about right then.

He felt bad just walking on the floor.  It was so pristine if he looked down he would see his own face, clear as day, staring right back up at him.  He didn't want to look back because he was sure he was tracking dirt or something.  Was it all rusting behind him?  Everyone was looking.  His ventilations were coming far too quickly to be natural.  All he could hear was his spark beating in his audials and--

"Are you alright?"

The elevator doors closed before them.  Hot Rod breathed a sigh of relief now that only Megatron's optics were on him.  Then he realized he had said something.  _What_ , Hot Rod couldn't remember, so he just smiled up at him, hoping he was convincing.

Megatron smiled down at him, and if his smile was anything like Hot Rod's, he was doomed.

The elevator ride was long and Hot Rod didn't dare do anything but look forward.  He didn't even check what floor they were going to.  Did it matter?  At least he was actually taking him to his room.  They usually wouldn't even try to lure them into a false sense of safety before taking them out into an alley.  Unless Megatron was rich enough to murder him in his hotel room and still get away with it.  He was rich.  And it wasn't like Hot Rod knew just _how_ rich.  He knew he was important, but was he _irreplaceable_ important?

When the doors finally parted they opened right into the room.  Which meant one thing.  Penthouse.  The fragger probably made more credits today than Hot Rod did in an entire vorn.  No wonder Tracks had been so ready to ship him off.

"I know, it's a bit much," Megatron said with a little chuckle.  "My colleague said staying here wasn't worth it if I didn't get the penthouse.  If you ask me it's far too much space for one bot.  At least you're making it seem a little less empty."

"So, where's the berth?" Hot Rod asked crassly.  Nervousness crept into his tone, no matter how much he tried to stop it.

"Oh, it's just past that door," Megatron said, pointing.  "You can take a nap if you'd like."

_A nap?_

"Or if you want, you can take an oil bath.  The washracks are just through there."  He pointed to a different door.  "I can also call for a masseuse.  Or get you some more energon.  Whatever you like."

Hot Rod was afraid to look at Megatron.  It didn't matter, though.  He was frozen in place anyways.  It all felt like bait.  Because it all seemed too good to be true.

"Or you can just sit and read-- I have a few books I brought with me.  I do have a bit of work I need to get done tonight, but if you wanted to chat later we can."

 _Read?  Chat?_   Primus, there were so many red flags.  So many that all Hot Rod could see was a field of red and someone screaming _get out_!  But where would he go?  What could he do?  If he tried to leave Megatron could easily overtake him, or complain that he'd left and then Hot Rod would be out of a job.  He was stuck. 

"We don't have to talk, if you don't want to."  Megatron had stooped down in front of him, getting onto one knee when Hot Rod still remained frozen.  "Are you alright?"

Hot Rod shook his helm to clear out his panic.  He didn't do the best job, but he was able to speak at least.  "Who, me?  I'm fine."  He smiled and hoped Megatron couldn't see how much he was shaking as he took a step closer to him and closed the gap between them.  "Spending time with a handsome mech like you?  What more could I want?"

Megatron almost... recoiled from him.  Slag.  Covering his face, he stammered, "Oil b-bath.  I bet you... you must be tired after the show.  You'd probably want that?  Yeah."  He was off to the washracks before Hot Rod could say another word.

Frag.  He had to save this.  Doing his best not to run but _needing_ to, Hot Rod went to where Megatron had said the berth would be.  If he weren't so frightened he might have marvelled over the fact that there was more berth than room, and that Megatron could have invited three other models over and they would all still have space.  But he didn't want that did he?  At least not yet.  Hot Rod would make him want it.  He'd channel Starscream or something.  Anything to get Megatron in the berth and fragging him and _enjoying it_ and changing his processor on the idea of models.  They weren't so bad.  They weren't slaves or anything.  They were compensated.  Not as well as the organizers, mind you, but they made a decent living. 

An oil bath did sound heavenly.  Sinking into this berth and sleeping for the next vorn sounded good, too.  But he was on duty.  These were working hours.  Meaning if he wasn't getting spiked, spiking someone, or in the process of doing either of those things, he was slacking off.

Thankfully, terrified or no, when Hot Rod thought about getting into berth with Megatron, his programming delivered.  He approved them when they popped up on his HUD.  And it helped some.  With the fear.  It was hard to be afraid of someone if your frame was telling you that oh, yes, you _definitely_ want them.  Why else would you be so lubricated?  So when Megatron finally came in, Hot Rod had sprawled himself seductively across the berth.

"Hey there, big mech," Hot Rod purred, letting his optics fall down Megatron's frame and then back up.  He pet the lush covers-- how expensive were these sheets?-- and said, "Come on in.  There's plenty of room."

"I..."  Megatron's face turned bright crimson.  "The bath.  It's ready."  He held out his hand to Hot Rod, unable to look him in the face.

Just a tiny bit of fear flashed across his face as he sat up and took Megatron's hand.  He didn't even hold all that tightly.  Like he was disgusted to be even touching him.

"Oil baths are... pretty hot," Hot Rod said, and immediately regretted it.  Nervousness was not sexy.  The fact that Megatron didn't say anything just proved that he would have been better keeping his mouth shut.

"I'll call to get some energon for us," Megatron said as he opened the door to the washracks. 

And just after Hot Rod stepped in, before he could ask Megatron to join him as seductively as he could, the door closed behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you have as much fun reading this chapter as I did writing it!

Soaking in the heavenly oil, its warmth seeping into every crevice, Hot Rod tried to enjoy it-- he really did!  He had his optics closed and everything, so it at least _looked_ like he was relaxing.  But this wasn't what he was supposed to be doing.  He needed to be fragging Megatron.  Or at least soaking with him.

None of this made any sense.  If Megatron didn't want to frag him, then what _did_ he want?  If he was going to kill him, why the hell would he be offering up all of these luxuries?  It didn't even seem like he wanted to be _around_ him.  Why waste all of these credits?  Sure, he probably had more than he would ever need, but rich bots didn't waste their money like this.  _No one_ wasted their money like this.

He considered comming Tracks.  Let him know what was going on.  Maybe get some advice?  Tracks had been a model long enough, and a manager of them for even longer.  Maybe this had happened before, and they were perfectly fine.  But he couldn't risk Megatron hearing him.  Especially if he still intended to frag him.

Maybe Megatron was just nervous.  He had seemed nervous.  And Hot Rod _was_ attractive.  Not so much with this alt mode, but he had the same pretty face as always.  Yeah.  He was just steeling himself.  He probably had performance anxiety or something. 

Still.  He could imagine a whole number of scenarios, but the evening would probably still end in interfacing or murder.

Hot Rod sank down into the oil until his mouth was covered, closing his optics.  He had to relax.  After all, if he was going to die he might as well enjoy his last few hours.

Why _didn't_ Megatron want to frag him?  It kind of stung.  Was he not good enough?  A bot with his kind of cred could probably afford Starscream, so why did he choose him?

What stung more, though, is that Tracks would probably be the only one to notice that he was gone.  And even he would get over it quickly.  They'd find another bot, eager to sell his frame, and give him to Tracks.  They might even slap a fiery paint job on him and pass him off as Hot Rod.  It wouldn't be the first time they'd done something like that.  Hot Rod had learned the hard way that he shouldn't make friends with other models. 

He wondered if Starscream or Knock Out had ever had any close calls like this.  Before they'd become famous enough to warrant their own bodyguards.  They would never have been let off of the venue grounds like this.  And it would have cost Megatron double just to have them for an hour.

Hot Rod slipped even further beneath the oil.  Maybe if he just completely submerged himself he'd be left alone forever.  But his stupid programming persisted.

He rubbed his thighs together, but of course that didn't help.  The only thing that would help was for his systems to register that he'd made someone else overload.  Then and only then he'd be allowed his own, and finally rid himself of the wet heat sitting behind his panels, demanding to be noticed. 

Some days he missed being able to self service, but it made the job easier.  The programming.  Being a model meant you sometimes had to interface... less handsome bots.  And it kept him wet when he had to do session after session.  Wet and _loving_ it.  Which is why it was so fragging uncomfortable to not be actively fragging someone!  If he left this too long he might end up jumping Megatron, and that would either cost him his commissions or his life. 

Hot Rod nearly jumped out of his plating when the door to the washracks reopened.  He ended up sending a wave of oil over the edge, where it splashed on the pristine floor.

"I'm sorry!" Hot Rod all but shrieked at Megatron, who was looking at the mess on the floor.

"Don't worry about it," Megatron said as he took a seat on the edge of the bath.  "It's not like I'll have to clean it up."

Hot Rod forced himself to take slower ventilations.  Forced the smile back on his face.

"Here."  Megatron offered him a drink Hot Rod hadn't realized he was holding.  "You like it sweet, right?"

There was no way Hot Rod could take that.  He was still shaking from being startled, and even if that passed he'd still be shaking from the horniness.  So he just ended up staring at it while his processor screamed at him.

"Not thirsty?" Megatron surmised.  "That's alright.  I'll leave it here, if you want it."  Depositing it on the little table beside the bath, he took a small sip from his own drink.  He sputtered when Hot Rod put his hand on his thigh, far too high to be considered decent.  He turned to look at him, a trickle of energon dripping down his chin.  Hot Rod wished he were lower.  He'd lick it off.

"Why don't you join me?" Hot Rod offered in the most seductive voice he could manage through the fear.  He actually thought he was pretty convincing.  Plus the programming would have put a lustful glint in his optics.

Megatron stared at the hand a moment longer, slowly lowering his drink from his face.  Then he looked at the bath.  At the end Hot Rod wasn't currently occupying.

"I'm not sure I'd fit," he said rather unconvincingly.  The bath was _enormous_.

"Then I guess we'll just have to get _really close_."  Hot Rod did just that then, rolling over onto one hip and scooting closer to him.  "I've been so lonely without you."  He wrapped his oil soaked arms around Megatron's, giving him his most seductive smile.

Megatron patted him on his arm, looking more than a little uncomfortable.  "Really, I'm alright.  I can stay here with you if you'd like, though."

Hot Rod gritted his denta to the point where they creaked.  With his olfactory sensors flooded with his scent, and feeling the tingle of his apprehensive field on his plating, his array was going wild with anticipation.

"Or I can leave," Megatron said suddenly, misunderstanding him.

"The bath is really nice."  Hot Rod couldn't help the desperation from seeping into his voice.  He might as well have been begging him to frag him.

"I'm sure it is.  Which is why you should enjoy it."  He patted his arm again and went to stand up, but Hot Rod held his arm too tightly for him to move without having to forcibly dislodge him.  "Are you... alright?"

"Please... get in the bath."  There was the begging.  Along with more useless thigh rubbing.  Only now his anterior node had swollen to the point that it rubbed against his modesty panel with every movement.  All it did was exacerbate his aching arousal.

"Is something wrong?"  Megatron's optics were full of concern.  "I can get you whatever you need."

"What I need is you!" Hot Rod blurted out.  He should have felt embarrassed.  He was heated and needy, and his valve cover had finally had enough, sliding aside audibly.  Even through the oil.  But even when Megatron's optics dropped to his array, all he felt was desire.

"I... don't understand," Megatron said.

Hot Rod wished he could enjoy how cute he was when he was confused, but he needed him to understand.

"There's... there's programming," Hot Rod told him.  And he was stupid to.  He was putting his trust in someone he had just met.  If word got out that they used programming to seem more interested than they were, Hot Rod would be kicked to the street.  If the modelling industry didn't completely topple from the revelation. 

Their clients liked to believe that they were the reason Starscream was so wet.  A gorgeous flight frame just couldn't resist their rusty old spike.  They were just _that good_.  To ruin that illusion... Well, they wouldn't be happy.

"Programming?"  Megatron looked no less confused.

" _Interfacing_ programming," Hot Rod explained.

Megatron stared at him a moment more.  "Oh.  _Oh_."

"Yeah."  Hot Rod managed a small chuckle before another wave of arousal hit him. 

"Are you in pain?"  It was so sweet of Megatron to hold his hand, but that really wasn't what he needed right then!           

"Well, not _exactly_."  He grit his denta and shifted again.  Nothing quelled the feeling.  "I just need to frag you, okay?  Just once.  I need you to overload."

"I... I don't know.  I haven't even taken you out...  I'm sorry, Hot Rod, it just doesn't feel right."  Megatron tried to shift away again, but Hot Rod gripped his hand tight.

"You bought me drinks-- that counts!"  Hot Rod tried to pull him closer, but Megatron was much stronger than him. 

"I paid for this, Hot Rod.  You're only doing this because I paid for your company."  He shook his helm, avoiding Hot Rod's gaze.  "I know this is the programming talking.  And I don't like to interface with bots who aren't fully willing."

"Okay, yeah, I wouldn't be begging you to frag me if it weren't for the programming, but... Please, Megatron."  He tried to plead with him through his optics, but he couldn't be sure his pitiful look was getting through.  He kept falling back into his best seductive look, which apparently wasn't working either.  He almost wished Tracks had set him up with Proteus.  At least he would have just fragged him and been done with it.

"... So there's no way to deactivate the programming once it's started?"  Megatron still had a bit of hope in his optics.

"No.  Well, they do turn off on their own after a few hours, but it's not pleasant to wait it out."  Hot Rod squirmed.  "I really wouldn't mind interfacing with you otherwise.  You're... pretty hot." 

"Oh..."  Megatron half covered his face.  Then he slowly stood, and this time Hot Rod let him.  He had resigned himself to waiting this out, and probably furiously attempting to dispel the charge my self-servicing, when he swung a leg over the edge of the bath and slowly sank into the oil. 

Hot Rod couldn't stop himself.  As soon as Megatron's aft hit the bottom, he shifted onto his knees and started to crawl up his frame.

"Wait."  Megatron put a hand out to stop him.  He only resisted it for a moment, but that was enough to feel the raw strength behind it.  He would have no trouble pinning him to the berth and fragging his processor out if he wanted to.  And Hot Rod wanted him to.  But he wouldn't yield.  "Can I just... kiss you first?"

"Did I mention that this programming is _very persistent_?"  Hot Rod had to grip the side of the bath to keep himself from pawing at Megatron's frame.  Though he couldn't help himself from grinding up against his leg.

Megatron was graciously ignoring his lewdness.  "I want to know if it's okay to kiss you," he said.  "And to let me know if there's anything I can do that will make you uncomfortable, so I don't end up doing that.  You can tell me what you like, too.  This will be for you, after all.  I want you to enjoy it to the fullest."

"Kiss me all you'd like I just need to frag you."  He ground against him harder, even though it would do him no good.  He felt himself get close and then felt the programming slowly bleed the charge off so he was left in this horrid almost-there state.  "And at this point, nothing makes me uncomfortable."

Megatron moved his hand from Hot Rod's chest to his face, and Hot Rod wasted no time in mashing their arrays together, but Megatron's panels were still closed.  There was heat behind them, though.  He did want this.

Drawing Hot Rod in closer, his free hand going to his trim waist, he brought their lips together.  Megatron kept his kiss slow and gentle, even with Hot Rod trying to shove his glossa into his mouth.  And when they pulled apart, he left a more chaste kiss on his forehelm.

"And... what you do like?" Megatron prompted.

"A spike in my valve."  Hot Rod's word filter was gone.

"I do intend to give you that," Megatron said with a little chuckle.  "But there is far more to interfacing than just that."

Did he know how cruel he was being with all of this teasing?  He didn't seem like the cruel type.

"I... like cuddling," Hot Rod admitted beneath his hot and heavy ventilations.  "Afterwards, I mean."

Megatron smiled.  "I'm sure I can give you that."

"Okay, fine, now will you frag me already?"  Hot Rod dove in for another kiss, and was delighted to have Megatron responding as eagerly this time.  It was hot and sloppy but that was what he needed right then.  That, and Megatron's spike, which he felt pressurize and then rub against his anterior node.

Hot Rod felt a flash of fear at feeling just how big it was.  He reminded himself that his array was so modded he could probably frag just about any size of bot.  He'd taken spikes bigger than this and it had felt great.  It wasn't going to hurt him.  But it still took a moment for him to calm himself down.

"Are you alright?"  Megatron tilted Hot Rod's chin up until he was looking him in the optics.  "Am I too big?"

"No, no."  Usually his clients didn't concern themselves with that.  They'd just thrust into him and hope for the best.

"Are you sure?"

Megatron was voicing his doubtful thoughts, which wasn't helping at all.  He had a resizing mod.  His valve could take it.  Not only that, it would feel good.  It would shape itself to best please Megatron.  Then they could overload and his programming could shut the hell up.

"Positive."  Hot Rod made sure to give him a smile, and it was only half-fake, before he positioned himself just above Megatron's spike.

"I don't want to hurt you," Megatron fret, his hands coming to rest on Hot Rod's waist.  They were so big his fingers almost touched.

"You won't," Hot Rod promised, laying a hand over his chest. 

He kissed him again so that Megatron wouldn't watch as he entered him.  Sometimes his plating would bulge from a spike this big.  Not everyone thought it was hot.  A good deal would even be disturbed by it.  He wasn't about to find out where Megatron fell on this scale. 

His calipers ripped in anticipation as he slowly started to sink down.  Then they snapped open as the tip of Megatron's spike spread his valve rim open.  Only once he was fully seated on his spike, feeling deliciously full, did his calipers come to rest.  The ceiling of his valve fell until it was snugged up against the tip, and his calipers conformed to the shape of his spike, then they came in just a little bit tighter, so that every node was stimulated.

Megatron's ventilations hitched.  "You're sure this isn't too much?"  One of his thumbs brushed over his abdomen, where there was indeed a little bulge, but it was nowhere near the most distended his belly had been.  "I can't imagine this feels too good."  At least he didn't seem disgusted by it.

"Have you never been with a model?" Hot Rod asked, opening his optics just a bit. 

"No, I...  This is all rather new to me."  He brought their forehelms together, looking a bit bashful.  "I'm sorry about this, Hot Rod.  I truly didn't know."

"Well...  No one really knows about the programming," Hot Rod admitted.  "Honestly, I shouldn't have told you.  You won't tell anyone, right?"  He gripped his shoulders tightly, fear in his optics.  "Please don't tell anyone."

"I won't," Megatron promised, though Hot Rod couldn't know if that promise meant anything.  "Provided that you're honest with me about how you're feeling.  You'll tell me if I hurt you?"

Hot Rod laughed.  "You'd have to really try to hurt me," he reassured him.  "Models have just about every mod you could imagine.  I've got a resizing mod.  All of us little guys do.  It's all good.  If anything, your spike is currently the perfect size for my valve."

"Really?"  Megatron passed his thumb over the bulge some more.  "So this doesn't hurt at all?"

Hot Rod donned his winning smile, and for the first time that night, he felt like himself.  He felt in control.  It felt good.  "It feels _amazing_ ," he said, and he wasn't lying.  But really, anything he did to him at this point would feel good.  "So feel free to be as rough with me as you like.  I promise that I can take it."

"I'd rather just enjoy you," Megatron purred, gently thrusting into him.

"Ah!"  Hot Rod gripped Megatron's shoulders, his optics squeezing shut.

Then Megatron stopped moving.  "I'm sorry!  Did I hurt you?"  His worried hands came up to cup Hot Rod's face, and he couldn't help but give a little huff.

"Megatron."  Hot Rod splayed his hands over his chest.  "I'm fine.  I swear by whatever god you believe in, or lack thereof, that I will tell you if you hurt me.  Which you won't.  Okay?"  When Megatron still seemed unconvinced, he said, "Okay, how about if I take over, yes?  I wouldn't forcibly hurt myself.  And if I do, I'll stop myself.  Will that work?"

The thumb still on the bulge was massaging the spot.

"That truly doesn't hurt," Hot Rod said.  "Why would I lie to you?"

Megatron gave a little sigh.  "Alright.  If you're sure."  He kissed his cheek, and Hot Rod loved it.  Then his mouth moved back down to his neck, his glossa finding cabling.  "You can take control.  But you _will_ tell me what you want me to do to you."

Well, orders were orders.

"Just--" Hot Rod moaned, "-- just keep doing that." 

"That feel good?"  He felt Megatron smirking into his neck.  Then his denta shifted out of the smile to bite at the sensitive wiring, and it had Hot Rod moving at a much faster pace than Megatron probably wanted him to.  But he kept his word and trusted him.  Which was good, because Hot Rod couldn't stop himself.  The programming was intensifying with every passing moment.

"Frag, yeah."  Hot Rod looped his arms under Megatron's so he could claw at his back, which Megatron seemed to enjoy, if the little groan he gave said anything.  "I like being touched," he said quietly.

"Mm?"

"Just..."  Hot Rod leaned back a little to look at Megatron's face.  It was a little difficult, to look him in the optics and be honest about this.  His needs and wants had never mattered before.  "I like being touched.  Just all over."

"Like this?" Megatron asked, his hands caressing up his sides.

Hot Rod closed his optics and slammed his hips down harder.  He delighted in the way his spike struck his ceiling nodes.  That was one of the good things about the mods.  Every spike was a perfect fit, so every spike felt like it had been made just for him.

When his hands came to rest on his hips again, where Hot Rod was delighted to feel them helping him along, he opened his optics.  He had expected Megatron's to still be focused on his face, but found them glued to his frame.  Right above his array.  Where the very visible lump from his spike was.  He was glad Megatron was giving himself over to the situation.  This may have been necessary to relieve Hot Rod, but he was still his client.  He still wanted to please him.

"You like that?" Hot Rod leaned back so that the bulge was more prominent.  His protoform flexed and shifted the plating on top as he slowly rode his spike, while he threw his helm back and moaned.  And that was when his hand slipped, and he would have fallen back into the bath, very ungracefully, if Megatron hadn't reached out to catch him.  So much for being seductive.

Pulling him closer, right into Megatron's embrace, he whispered right into his audial, "You don't have to put on a show for me.  All I want to see is you thoroughly enjoying this."

His hands yielded when Hot Rod pushed up off his chest, but just enough so that he could look at him.  And he looked confused and unsure.

"What's wrong?" Megatron asked, stroking his back.

"But..."  Hot Rod looked at his chest.  Right between his ornamental detailing.  "I'm supposed to make you feel good?"  He looked back up at Megatron's face and found him smiling.  Which was good.  But he wasn't even doing anything?

"You already are," Megatron reassured him.  "Interfacing isn't about one person getting something from the other.  It's a connection."  He left a line of kisses down his neck, stopping to nip where his cabling disappeared behind flashy plating.  "I must admit that I wasn't so much against interfacing with you because I was paying... but because I was afraid of becoming too attached."

Hot Rod's ventilations hitched.  Before he could stop himself, he let another industry secret pass his lips.  Like Megatron was slowly unlocking him with every touch.  It came out quietly, with a little reluctance in his voice.  "Models aren't allowed to date."

"You misunderstand, Hot Rod."  Primus, hearing his name in his low, growling voice would have been enough to make him overload before he'd been reprogrammed.  But the charge bled off before he could be satisfied, like it always did.  Even more slipped away as one of Megatron's hands stroked up his waist.  "I wouldn't wish to burden you with my attraction.  I understand that this meeting is just that: a meeting.  I would never blame you for being beautiful.  My feelings are my own problem."

Hot Rod had never talked so much while interfacing.  Nor had he ever had a client be so gentle, so slow, with him.  And while the forced edging was enough to drive anyone crazy, he didn't want it to stop.  He didn't ever want Megatron to take his hands off of him.

"I can stop talking, if you'd like," Megatron murmured into his neck.

"You don't have to," Hot Rod whispered.  "Your voice is sexy."

"Is that so?"  Megatron shifted so his mouth was by his audial, and for a few moments, all he did was ventilate, then he smirked when Hot Rod squirmed from just that.

Hot Road activated one of his stealthier mods.  It mimicked the contractions of a valve in overload, only they were less intense.  It sent waves through his calipers, milking Megatron's spike.  As much as he didn't want this to end, his programming did, and it was shouting louder.  He wished he could enjoy this without them, but they were a part of him now.  Inseparable so long as he remained a model.

"So, you like it when I tell you how wonderful it feels to be in you warm, wet valve?"  Megatron thrust up a little as Hot Rod came down, pushing himself in just a little further.  Giving Hot Rod that last little bit of spike that his valve hadn't accommodated for.  He'd forgotten how it felt to be pushed just past his limits.  It was exhilarating.  "How I love feeling your plating shift with every movement?"  His hands stroked up and down his back, and Hot Rod made sure to gyrate his hips a little to make it shift that much more.  "How much I love hearing you _moan_."

He gave a loud moan.  Partly because of showmanship, which he was trying not to do, but old habits die hard, and partly because he felt what would have been another overload slip away.  He had to bite back a growl of frustration.

"Yes, just like that, Hot Rod," Megatron purred.  "Moan for me."

"Megatron."  Hot Rod drew out his name in a long and breathy moan.  He loved how Megatron was slowly starting to take more control.  Each thrust into him was a little longer, a little harder.  Soon enough he was barely doing any of the work.

"You're so beautiful," Megatron whispered, and somehow even that sounded like the sexiest thing Hot Rod had ever been called.

Pretty soon the compliments grew less frequent, and even then they were just single words.  A "hot" or a "sexy", with maybe a "so" tossed in before them.  Megatron had gotten a secure grip on his hips and was slamming their arrays together in a wonderful clash of metal.  All Hot Rod could do was hold on and play his part, simultaneously praying for Megatron's swift overload and for this moment to go on forever.  Where he had Megatron completely lost in his ecstasy.  Where he would continue to receive praise.

"Are you close?" Hot Rod asked, trying and failing to keep his desperation out of his voice.

"Very," Megatron hissed out, letting his helm fall back.

Hot Rod tugged it back up.  There was no way he was going to miss what was possibly his last chance to taste those lips again.  They came for his mouth just as eagerly, but stopped as a moan took over, and then Hot Rod had to separate from him as a scream erupted from his voicebox as he was finally allowed to overload.

He blacked out for a few moments.  Long enough for him to slump forward onto Megatron, but short enough that when he came to, Megatron was still ventilating heavily. 

"Hot Rod... that was..."  Megatron kissed at his helm.  With a little laugh, he said, "I can see why people pay for you."

Hot Rod laughed a little, too, but this was different from his regular clients.  There was something... well, different.  Though he didn't know what.  Maybe it was that Megatron was still stroking his back.  Still kissing him.  Hell, most clients were adverse to kissing.  And often Hot Rod was, too.  Interfacing was one thing, but kissing made it intimate.  Not that Hot Rod ever minded intimacy.  He could distinguish this from a relationship.

His spark fluttered when Megatron's lips left a gentle peck on his cheek.

... Couldn't he?


	4. Chapter 4

Now, Hot Rod had always enjoyed interfacing.  But this... this might top it. 

Megatron's hands slowly scrubbed circles on his plating while soap, water, and oil dripped off of him and down the drain.  He had been told to not help him.  To let Megatron clean him up.  And, well, he was still on the clock.  If his client told him not to move, then he wouldn't move.  But he had said nothing about not enjoying this, and enjoy it Hot Rod was.  If it weren't for his programming sending a popup to his HUD every minute or so, it would have been perfect.

"I'm sorry," Megatron apologized as he got to his back.

Hot Rod opened his optics and asked, "For what?"

"I've scratched up the paint on your back," Megatron explained.  His hands scrubbed even more gently now, as though he might break Hot Rod if he were too rough. 

Hot Rod scoffed.  "Don't even worry about it.  They touch it up pretty much every morning."

"Still.  I should be more careful with you next time."

_Next time?_

Hot Rod didn't ask what he meant by that.  He would jump at a next time if there was one.  Though, he would have preferred the next time be _less_ careful.

A request to activate his programming popped up on Hot Rod's HUD when Megatron strayed a little too close to his array.  If he wasn't careful _now,_ "next time" would come much sooner than he'd expect. 

Stopping his hands, Hot Rod turned around and took the washrag from him.  "I should probably clean there," he suggested.

"Oh!  Yes.  Of course."  Face flushed, he took a step back so that Hot Rod could access the stream of water.  A moment after Hot Rod started cleaning his array, he asked, "Should I?  Leave?"

Hot Rod met his optics without stopping what he was doing, and while he saw no issue with this, Megatron was clearly battling with himself over whether he should be watching him or not.  He gave him a sympathetic smile.  "It's alright if you want to watch," he reassured him.  "I'm not going to make a show of it or anything.  I'm just cleaning."

"Right.  Uh."  Megatron watched for just a moment more before turning around.  "No.  I should give you your privacy."

Hot Rod laughed.  "Models don't get privacy."

"Well, you should," Megatron decided.

Shrugging, Hot Rod quickly finished cleaning his valve, a task that was much easier with the removable shower head that he had.  He still had to dismiss a couple of requests, but it would have been a dozen more than that if Megatron had tried to do this.  Over the years Hot Rod had learned how to keep his thoughts as unsexy as possible when he had to do things like this.  It was only when the stream directly hit his anterior node that he was forced to think about how good it felt.  It kind of made him want to do this to Megatron.  Maybe in their "next time."

"I'm done," Hot Rod announced after he had closed his valve cover.  "Did you... want to finish?"

"If you'll let me," Megatron answered.  After Hot Rod nodded, he picked up the stool in the corner and brought it over.  "It'll be easier if you're sitting."

Sitting down, Hot Rod extended a leg towards Megatron.  He couldn't help but do it seductively.  Every move he made had to be alluring.  And while it wasn't aggressively coded into him, it was still a hard habit to break.  But Megatron didn't seem to mind too much.  Quite the opposite, actually.  He slid his hands up his legs slowly, kissing at his knee and thigh, though the sight was spoiled by another request.

"Uh, maybe... um... we don't do that?" Hot Rod suggested.

"Not good?" Megatron asked.

"Uh... no..."  Hot Rod half-hid his reddening face.  "Too good."

"Oh."  Megatron ran his hand up Hot Rod's thigh, and that prompted another popup.  "Sorry.  I'll stick to cleaning."

"I mean, _you can_ , but...  I don't think you want to interface again?"  Hot Rod wouldn't be against it.  And if he activated his programming while Megatron was there, it would feel a lot better.  Just thinking about it forced him to dismiss another popup.  Had it always been this sensitive?

Lips fell on his calf a few more times, all but worshipping his frame, then he washed them away with the showerhead. 

"I like this," Megatron said.  "If you're still okay with it, of course."

"Do what you want with me," Hot Rod said in a dreamy tone.

Nuzzling into his knee, and looking cute, of all things, Megatron murmured, "I want to get you clean.  I still owe you some cuddling."

There was actual steam rising off of Hot Rod's frame.  He hid his face in his hands, thankful that embarrassment wouldn't set off his programming.

"Did I forget to tell you how adorable you are?"  Megatron gently wiped his legs clean with a washrag.  "Because you are.  You're almost too cute for me to handle."

"Stop.  I can't take it!"  Hot Rod was glad he was sitting down.  He wouldn't have trusted his legs to keep him upright.

"Not until you stop being so cute." 

"It's not my fault," Hot Rod protested.  "I was forged that way."

Megatron chuckled and gently placed his leg on the floor.  "Other leg," he prompted, giving it a tap.  He kept to just cleaning it this time, though it seemed like he was stopping himself from kissing and caressing it.  Still, he hummed as he made sudsy circles on it, until his plating shined.

"I can wax you too, if you'd like," Megatron offered as he rinsed him.  "I want to return you looking as good as you did when I left."

Hot Rod waved his hand dismissively.  "Don't bother.  Someone will come by in the morning to fix me up anyways.  And honestly?  I hate the feel of wax.  I don't get why anyone would wanna be waxed up all the time.  Like, I don't need to blind myself every time I lift my arm."

Megatron laughed again, putting his forehelm to Hot Rod's knee.  "I feel like you've just broken some unwritten model rule.  'You shall not forsake the wax.'"

Hot Rod gave a snort of laughter, and his face flushed immediately afterwards.  He hid it again and pulled his legs in, trying to curl up and pretend that he did not just do that in front of a client.  But with hands more gentle than he would have ever imagined they could be, Megatron pulled his hands away from his face.

"You just get cuter with every passing moment," he murmured.  Then he kissed one of his hands, which was not helping his whole blushing problem.

"Oh, c'mon, that was _not_ cute," Hot Rod argued weakly.

"You are cute, therefore whatever you do it cute."  Megatron stood and turned the water off, putting the nozzle back in its place on the wall.  Then he offered his hand to Hot Rod, who took it with a polite nod of thanks.

It was a little strange, being this intimate.  It was strange to even think of showering as intimate.  Hot Rod had always just gone to the washracks to clean or repaint.  It was a necessity.  And yet it was warm and wet, and forced them into a closeness.  Well, not forced.  _Persuaded_.  Gave reason to.  Either way, regular showers would not be an easy thing to return to. 

And, Primus, there was something about the way the water dripped down Megatron's frame.  Rivulets running down plating and dipping into seams Hot Rod could only dream of reaching.  He wanted to be the water.  To know every detail of his chassis.

It was only when Megatron retook his hand did he realize he was staring.  As his optics panned back up to his face, he started to flush a deep red.  It only got worse when Megatron took a step towards him.

"Can I kiss you?" Megatron asked, leaning down just a little.

Hot Rod nodded vigorously, reaching up to grab at his shoulders.  He heard Megatron chuckle but his optics were already closed.  Already leading with eager lips, followed by an equally eager frame.  But their kiss was already spoiled when he heard the beep of a request, and had to open his optics to dismiss the programming's call.  Nothing about this had to lead to interfacing.  It wasn't Megatron's goal.  What was his goal? 

To kiss him, evidently.  Kiss him with the gentlest of lips, while water dripped from their frames and mingled together.  Some landed on Hot Rod's frame, and there was something sensual about knowing that it had been on Megatron's frame first.

After another request was refused, Hot Rod pulled back.  Megatron stayed close, though.  Resting his forehelm on his.

"Let's get dried off," Megatron suggested.

The dryer was really only big enough for one bot at a time.  But Hot Rod was small and determined, and Megatron was happy for the company.  The fans made it next to impossible to talk, so they spoke through their hands, and occasionally, through their mouths.  Though, there was still no talking involved there, and nothing that Hot Rod felt like saying. 

Hot Rod was disappointed when they were finished.  He'd been having fun.  Then he gave a surprised squeak when he was literally swept off of his pedes. 

"Is this alright?" Megatron asked, cradling him close to his wide chest.  If his chassis was completely empty, Hot Rod would have probably been able to fit in there.  Cozy and safe with Megatron to protect him.

"It's very alright," Hot Rod said, snuggling closer.  He could have slept right there.  But Megatron had actual plans to get him to berth.  The giant berth. 

Laying him down gently, he tucked him under the blankets.  He felt so tiny.  In a good way.

"Comfortable?" he asked.

Hot Rod nodded.  "Very." 

As Megatron climbed in the other side, he asked, "You still want to cuddle?"

Hot Rod shifted closer to him in way of answer, holding his arms open.  Megatron smiled as he pulled him closer, right up against his huge chest.  It was like a wall in the berth.  His arms were like a gate.  Still protecting him, but would open and let him be free if he so requested it.

This was better than fragging _and_ being cleaned.  Cuddling in this huge, plush berth.  With both of them clean and on top of clean sheets, cuddled up under a weighted blanket, with the room at the perfect temperature.  With Megatron's arms around him.  Keeping him safe.  Ushering him off to recharge.

"So this is good?" Megatron asked.

"This is very good."  Hot Rod snuggled that much closer, his optics closed in bliss.

"Good." 

Hot Rod thought he felt a kiss on his forehelm, but he couldn't be sure, because a moment later recharge took him.

 

When Hot Rod awoke the next morning, at first he was confused.  All he saw was grey, and the berth felt far more comfortable than he was used to.  He remembered where he was when the grey in front of his optics moved, shifting back until he saw the beautiful red of Megatron's optics.

"Good morning," Megatron murmured.  His voice was the best alarm Hot Rod could ask for. 

Alarm clock.  Time.   _Time_!  What time was it?

Hot Rod flailed himself out of Megatron's arms and fumbled around the berthside table until he picked up what he assumed was the clock.  It was hard to tell.  Everything was a blur with his optics still not fully cycled up.  He blinked hard, putting the screen close to his face.  He gave a sigh of relief when he saw how early it was, then deposited the clock back where he found it and rolled back into Megatron's arms.

Chuckling and re-wrapping his arms around Hot Rod, he murmured, "Not late, I take it?"

"Mm-mm."  Hot Rod shook his helm, then nuzzled it into Megatron's chest.  "I'ma sleep now."

He laughed again.  "How much longer do I have you?"

"A few more hours," Hot Rod answered. 

"Alright.  Just let me know when I have to take you home."

Hot Rod felt a surge of warmth through his frame when Megatron left a kiss on his forehelm.  It also sort of woke him up.  At least enough so that he may receive more.  Perhaps on places more able to reciprocate.

With the most adorable look he could muster up, which was aided by his ebbing fatigue, he peeked up at Megatron from his chest.  When he managed to get Megatron to look at him, he smiled widely enough so that it reached his optics.

"That's not fair."  Megatron hugged him closer.  "You're too cute for your own good."

Hot Rod enjoyed being called cute probably a little too much.  Far more than being called hot or sexy.  Though, from Megatron, they were still good.  But he still preferred cute.

"Who, me?"  Hot Rod nuzzled against him, hiding one of his optics, but still leaving one, wide and blue, to look up at him.  He hadn't realized how starved he was for this kind of attention.  It was going to be hard to go back to his regular clients.  Not that he hated fragging.  But he had enjoyed it far more before his reprogramming.  Most of the time, anyway.

"Yes, you." 

Success!  Another kiss was left upon his forehelm.  This time, though, Hot Rod was ready to slither up his frame, until their lips were so close that not kissing became an inconvenience.

"Well hello," Megatron murmured, one of his hands sliding up Hot Rod's back.

"Hi."  Hot Rod couldn't help but giggle.  Something about Megatron made him giggly.  And not the fake kind.  The kind he couldn't help.

"Do you need something?" Megatron asked.  His voice was scarcely above a low growl.  Hot Rod had to stop himself from thinking programming-activating thoughts.

"Yeah, um..."  Normally he'd just dive in.  He was literally in berth with him, their arms wrapped around each other.  Their lips were microns from each other.  No one watching this from the outside would have thought him presumptuous.  Then again, normally he'd only be in a client's berth to frag them.  Their normalcy was abnormal.  So, he felt like he should play by the rules Megatron had made.  In a quiet voice, Hot Rod asked, "Can I kiss you?"

Megatron smiled.  Hot Rod felt it more than he saw it.  The same way he felt his words when he said, "You may."

Though there was little space, they closed it equally.  Meeting each other halfway.  And Hot Rod didn't feel the need to push it further than this.  Just two pairs of lips joining softly in the pale morning light.  He wasn't something to be bought in Megatron's optics.  He hadn't realized how much he wanted to be that.

Hot Rod felt frozen in time.  He wasn't.  He knew that.  But that was how he felt.  He could have stayed here forever.  Hell, he would have paid to stay here.  Emptied his account of every credit.  If it meant one more moment of this.

But time, like the nuisance it was, went on.  And what felt like forever was really only a few hours.  Hours that had slipped away unnoticed.  This time, when Hot Rod checked the time, he saw that they were out of it.  He thought it might kill himself to pull away.  To go on with life.  To do his damn job.  But he survived. 

"Let's get you home," Megatron whispered, a hint of sadness in his voice.  His fingers gently stroked his spinal strut.  Then they retreated, along with the rest of him.

For the entire elevator trip, they stayed silent.  Nor did they touch each other.  Hot Rod kept his optics down.

The sun felt too bright.  Too cheery.  And each bot out and about then felt like another sun.  They chatted amiably, their bright smiles just as blinding.  Hot Rod didn't feel like smiling.  Like shining.  He wanted to be in Megatron's arms.

Megatron walked slowly, and Hot Rod was glad he did.  It meant that his short legs could keep up, and this would be drawn out longer.  This short walk that had felt so long the first time, now seemed far too short.

After a while, Hot Rod couldn't handle the silence.  Especially after everything had been so wonderfully loud.  And not while one question still nagged at him.  "So why did you pay for me?  If you didn't want to frag me?"

Megatron sighed.  "Honestly?  It was mostly to keep up appearances.  I'm new to all of this and everyone told me that I _had_ to do this.  They treat this as a rite of passage for new wealth.  I really didn't want to do it.  I don't like interfacing with someone I'm not romantically involved with.  I figured I would just pay for someone's time and they could have a relaxing evening off.  Everyone would assume what they wanted to assume, I would say it wasn't for me, and be done with it."  He glanced down at Hot Rod.  "Not that I didn't enjoy this.  I did."

"Yeah, no, I get it," Hot Rod sympathized. 

"I have thoroughly enjoyed your company, though."  Megatron took Hot Rod's hand.  "And the actual show.  I'm sure this won't be my last one."

Hot Rod just stared at their combined hands.  He couldn't take his optics off of them.  How long had it been since someone just held his hand?  Long before he'd started modelling.  Long before everything.  He literally could not remember. 

Misreading his reaction, Megatron released it.  "I apologize."

Hot Rod grabbed his hand before it could get too far, and saw his smile reflected on Megatron's face.  He had to stop himself from gripping it with everything he had.

The next silence wasn't so bad.  No silence could be bad if he was holding his hand.  But it did make the last stretch of road seem even shorter.  He could see the venue now.  They might as well be on the front steps.  And soon enough, they were.  Well, at the base.  Standing in front of the small bit of windowless wall.

"I could pay for another day," Megatron made one last attempt to hold onto him.  "No expectations for interfacing or anything.  You can just relax and do whatever you want."

More cuddle time.  Maybe another bath.  One where they just relaxed and held each other.  It was sure to be the happy place he'd escape to when he needed it.  But he had other clients to see to, and he was already getting far too attached to him.  Space was the best thing for both of them.

"Oh.  Uh, thanks, but I have other commitments today."  Hot Rod gave him an apologetic smile.  "Sorry.  But, um, you can always arrange for some more time with me through my manager.  Maybe not a whole day, but... um..."  There was no future for them.  Pretending otherwise would be cruel for them both. 

"No, no, I understand."  Megatron smiled, too, but it was a little sad.  "This is work for you."

Hot Rod looked up at the venue to the floors above, where he'd be staying until the next show.  When he looked back, Megatron had followed his optics, but then they met his once more.

"Well.  It was fun."  Megatron just stood there awkwardly for a moment, but it didn't look like he had any intention of leaving.  He fidgeted and then leaned down a little, then seemed to think better of it.  "Maybe I'll see you at another show?"

Before Hot Rod could think about the consequences, he grabbed Megatron by the wrist and ran to the closest alley, pulling him in behind him.  He paused only a moment, when his common sense took hold of his frame.  But it was short-lived.  He pulled him down by his helm, stretching up onto the fore of his pedes so he could kiss him.  He didn't know if anyone could see them here, and a part of him didn't care.  All he wanted to think about right then, was how nice his lips felt on his.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! Depression hit me hard and I just didn't feel like I could tackle anything with a huge plot right then.

"Up, up, up!"

After his nice wake up the day before, this alarm was horrible.  To make it even worse, this alarm had hands.  Hands that could yank the blanket off of his frame when he tried to hide beneath it.  When he used his pillow, his last line of defense, that was taken, too.  And then the lights came on, blinding Hot Rod.

"I'm not having any of this today!" Tracks said.  "We're already late!"

"Late?"  Confused, Hot Rod was pulled from his berth.  "For what?"

"I'll explain once you're in your washracks!  Now, off you go!"  Tracks swatted him lightly on his aft.

Back to life as usual.  It was probably for the best. 

Tracks was hot on his heels as Hot Rod did his best to not trip over tired pedes.

"Did you not get any of my messages?" Tracks chastised him.

"I... maybe?"  Hot Rod's HUD still wasn't fully online yet.

Tracks sighed.  "Just get in the shower."

"But I cleaned myself after my last session," Hot Rod said.  He still got in.  It was better not to argue with Tracks.  Especially when they were already late.

"It's not cleanliness I'm concerned with," Tracks said a little solemnly.  He pressed a button on the panel, just as Hot Rod realized what he meant by that.

"Wait!  But..."  Hot Rod could have fought it, but the paint strippers had already made gunmetal grey lines in his flashy finish.  He'd only waste more of their time by rebelling.  So, with a resigned sigh, be twisted and turned under the streams, helping them along as he watched the red, orange, and gold swirl down the drain.

"Hot Rod, I love your flames, but they just don't sell."  At least Tracks sounded sympathetic.  "And that's what we need to do today.  Sell.  So, please, just do your best to sell a scan.  Even one.  I had to jump through a lot of hoops to get you this party."

"But why?  This isn't the first time I've made no sales.  Sometimes alt modes just don't sell."

Tracks sighed, and Hot Rod really didn't like the sound of it. 

"Hot Rod, darling, they at least expect one sale from the limited edition model."  Tracks pressed the button to turn off the paint strippers, then ran a quick rinse.  Then he turned the fans on, and Hot Rod was kind of glad for the noise.  But as soon as they were done drying him off, Tracks opened the door and continued, "The organizers aren't happy with you."

"But it's not my fault their stupid alt mode sucks!" Hot Rod protested.

"I know."  Tracks put his arm around his shoulder to give him a reassuring squeeze, then lead him over to the paint scanner.  "We don't have the time to give you anything special, so we'll just have to go with one of the sample colours.  Would a nice red cheer you up?"

"Red's fine."  It wouldn't cheer him up, but he'd have to cheer up somewhere between now and the party.

"It's just for today," Tracks reassured him.  "I'll schedule a repaint for you tonight.  How does that sound?  You can have whatever you want done.  Within reason, of course."

"So maybe flames," Hot Rod said, deadpan.

"We'll get you your flames back.  You're practically conjunx with them."

Well, at least that managed to bring a smile to Hot Rod's face.

"That's the ticket.  Now, just keep that up for the party, and make sure to accentuate your curves.  I know they're there somewhere beneath all those corners." 

The smile was already hard to hold up, and he had to drop it when Tracks shoved him into another machine.  This one tapped into his systems and shut his vents and optics, then held him still as the cold spray of paint hit his naked plating.  After a quick dry, it applied a sealer, and then after _that_ dried, a waxy finish, of course.  Hot Rod had to resist the urge to scratch it off when the machine gave him back his autonomy.

"Please do your best today, Hot Rod," Tracks pleaded with him.  "I don't mean to scare you, but your career really does ride on this."  Then, with a huff and a glance at the clock, he said, "Where is that bot with your morning ration?"

At least he was getting fed beforehand this time.

"Well, seeing as we have some time," Tracks said, irritation in his voice, "we have time for some detailing.  Come, Hot Rod."  He didn't look behind him to see if Hot Rod was following, but he was.  He'd be blamed for making them even more late if he wasn't.

Tracks sat him down in front of his vanity table, and he was forced to come face-to-face with himself.  The red was fine, still vibrant enough for him to like, but it was... dull.  He looked so normal.  So average.  So everything that everyone wanted him to be, and everything he hated.  If this didn't get him a sale, nothing would.

"A little gold, perhaps?" Tracks suggested, procuring a little jar of temporary paint from a drawer.  "Bring out your beautiful optics."

"Whatever you think is best," Hot Rod said.

"Come now, Hot Rod, chin up."  Tracks literally lifted his chin up.  "I figured you would be a little happier, especially after getting such a big tip from that Megatron fellow.  You must have made a great impression on him."

Hot Rod kept his face where Tracks left it when he went to get a brush.  "What?"

"You didn't see?  Check your account!"  Tracks controlled his giddiness as he began to apply the paint. 

Hot Rod was glad to have the distraction, looking at his HUD.  He hated paint on his face, but it did look good in the end.  Though it was hard to stay still when he checked his account balance.  If it was indeed his account he was looking at.  The numbers made it seem like a mistake.  He'd never seen that many credits-- ever!

When Tracks turned to dip the brush again, Hot Rod said, "This has to be a mistake."

"No mistake," Tracks said.  "He spoke with me yesterday, telling me what a good time he had with you."

"He did?"  Hot Rod's spark swelled.  Even more so when he saw there was a message attached to the deposit.  _Consider this a request to see you again - Megatron_.

"Uh oh."  Tracks took a step back, keeping his optics on Hot Rod while he went for more paint.  "I know that smile."

"Smile?  What smile?  I'm not smiling."  He paused.  "I mean, I'm _smiling_ , but, like, the smile you want for the party.  See?"

"Hot Rod."  Tracks put down the paint brush.  Put his hands on both of Hot Rod's shoulders.  Looked him straight in the optics.  With the kind of look that always managed to unnerve Hot Rod, because he only gave him this look when he had fragged up, was currently fragging up, or was about to frag up.  "You know the rules.  Models aren't allowed to date."

"Who said anything about dating?" Hot Rod snapped.  "You're the one who brought it up!"

"Hot Rod.  Look at me."

Hot Rod stubbornly kept his gaze on the floor a moment more, but he felt the intensity of Tracks' optics, and knew that he would keep him here until he did, so he looked into those optics.  They'd turned a dark shade of blue.  Almost the same colour as his plating.

"I think you should be able to.  I remember how hard it was.  Especially when you're around so many bots who would jump at the chance if you were even slightly interested.  But he isn't worth your career.  No one is.  Not when you have so much potential."

Hot Rod scoffed.  "Potential?  You literally had to get them to throw me a pity party so that I can keep this damn job."

"This wasn't your fault, Hot Rod.  You got dealt a bad card.  But that doesn't change the fact that you _have_ to make a sale.  So do whatever you need to accomplish that.  Smile brightly, and smile often.  Flaunt it.  Because I want you to succeed.  Because when I look at you, I see the next Knock Out.  But you have to want it.  You can't be distracted by anything.  Alright?" 

"I'm not interested in him."  Hot Rod's spark twisted as he said that.  "You don't have anything to worry about."

"I hope so, Hot Rod.  For your sake."  Tracks acquired the brush again.  "And besides, you're way too pretty for him."

Hot Rod gave a little snort of laughter.  "You think I'm too pretty for everyone."

"And I'm always right."  With one last stroke, Tracks declared, "Done."  He smiled down at Hot Rod.  "Beautiful."  Then he stepped out of the way so Hot Rod could see.

Oh.  He was pretty.  As long as everyone kept their optics on his face.  And maybe that would be a good thing.  If he could convince a client that the alt mode was as beautiful as his face, he'd easily make a sale.  Maybe even _two_.  He didn't disillusion himself to completely selling out of scans, but maybe, just maybe, he'd keep his career.

He wasn't allowed to be enamoured with his reflection for too long.

Tracks sighed.  "Sorry, Hot Rod, but it looks like energon isn't going to get here fast enough.  So work your aft into getting some.  I know you can do it."

It was then that he realized how hungry he was.  His tank cramped with emptiness, and his optimism quickly faded.  He made so few sales on an empty tank.

"Off we go, Hot Rod."  Tracks pulled at the back of the chair, then tilted it and forced Hot Rod to his pedes.  "If we hurry, we might still make 'fashionably late.'  Now, show me that winning smile!"

The smile he gave felt terrible, and from Tracks' expression, looked just as terrible.

"Practice on the way down," Tracks advised.  "Remember your career."

Because piling on the pressure always worked.

He didn't really have time to practice, though.  It was like he blinked and he was there.  Thrust into a crowd of bots that were as uninterested with him as the night of the show.  Only this time, he had literally no competition.  Which meant his clients enjoyed each other's company more than his.

Five minutes in, and he had already lost hope.  No one approached him.  Even finding someone looking at him was proving to be quite a feat.  And by that point his tank was hurting him so much that his smile was little more than him gritting his denta together.

"Megatron's here." 

Hot Rod started at the voice, then relaxed when Tracks came up beside him.  His processor didn't have enough time to process his words before he was speaking again.

"Don't look too interested to see him, alright?" Tracks instructed.  "But he might be your best chance at a sale.  He likes you enough.  Make sure you play hard to get.  That's how you keep them spending.  Play into the fantasy just enough for him to think it's possible, but hold back enough to keep him on his toes."

"I know how to do my job, Tracks," Hot Rod hissed back.

"I'm just reminding you."  Tracks subtly touched his arm before he disappeared into the throng.

Hot Rod tried to suppress his excitement.  But he was eagerly scanning the crowd for his familiar face.  He met a few pairs of optics, but they all turned away.  And none of them were that deep red.  The colour he just decided was his favourite.

When he finally found red, they weren't his.  They were too pale, almost orange.  Even worse, they locked on with his, and the mech owning them decided to make his way over, so Hot Rod had to quickly hide his disappointment.  Then he had to disguise his disgust when then mech took his hand, bowing to kiss it.  He was putting his lips where Megatron's had been.  Tainting it.

At least his words brought some relief.

"May I buy you a drink?" he asked.

Hot Rod's tank cramped again, reminding him of its near-emptiness.  When he smiled, it was real, and he said, "That would be lovely."

With some energon in him, he was able to chat amiably with the mech, and beyond the kiss on his hand, he wasn't trying anything.  But he clearly wasn't interested in buying either.  He had been alone and it was Hot Rod's job to keep him company.  So he stayed polite, but the idea that he'd spend the last few hours of his career talking to someone so bland was making him depressed.

He seemed to find a friend later, and decided he would make better company.  Alone again, Hot Rod sashayed around the room, trying to look desirable.  In a you-could-be-me kind of way.  Unfortunately, everyone wanted to be anyone but him.  Hot Rod included.

Another bot approached him, and asked him to transform a couple of times.  These kinds of clients were often worse than the ones who got a little too pushy when it came to interfacing, because they felt even more entitled to touch him wherever they pleased.  Seeing where each piece fit into the alt mode and vice versa.  Hot Rod had to allow them, though.  They were the real money makers in the business.  The ones who actually only cared about the shows and alt modes.  But no bot who claimed to be in it for the alt modes would ever buy this flop.  Not for the price, anyways.

In the end, he said thank you, which was more than most would, took one look at the specs, and turned on his heel to get far away from him.  The disgusted look on his face made it seem like he thought Hot Rod's ugly was contagious.

Hot Rod couldn't wait until his next rescan.  If he even got another one. 

The rest of the party went boringly.  He had a few more conversations, a few more bots leering at him, but still no one struck him as a definite sale.  And since Tracks hadn't bothered to contact him  the entire time, he could assume he still hadn't earned anything.  And still no sign of Megatron.  Maybe he'd taken one look at him and left.  Maybe he finally came to his senses.

He was finding it particularly hard to maintain his smile while the two mechs he was locked in a conversation with seemed more interested in each other.  They weren't even talking about alt modes at this point.  Quite frankly, Hot Rod had no idea _what_ they were talking about.  He just kept his hand on his hip and looked inviting. 

He felt like a decoration.

"Hot Rod, is that you?"

The smile Hot Rod had forced onto his face grew, feeling much less tight as it came from a genuine source.  His spark thrummed in his chest.  He turned, ready to rush over to him, when he realized that his clients hadn't finished speaking near him, and that he was being _very_ rude.  Whatever chance he'd had at a sale with them was gone, and perhaps at all, if word spread about his faux pas.

"Please excuse me," he said as politely as he was able.  Before he left them, he handed them both a chart of the alt mode's specs, even though he knew it was pointless, then gave them one more smile, fuelled by his excitement to see Megatron again, and all but skipped of over to him.  He forced himself to keep to a walk, though.  Megatron might find his skipping cute, but to everyone else it would be juvenile.

"It _is_ you," Megatron said gleefully as he approached.  He held his arms open in welcome, and Hot Rod only just stopped himself from jumping into them.

"How nice to see you again, Megatron."  Hot Rod stopped enough steps away from him to seem proper.  It almost killed him.  He wanted to return to that safe place against his chest.  Where the world quieted.

He looked a little hurt, but Megatron hid it well.  "I barely recognized you without the flames."

"Oh, yes, well, change is good now and again," Hot Rod lied.  And lying to Megatron actually felt bad.  Like the drink he'd just had had suddenly curdled. 

"I do hope they make a return," Megatron said, and he was clearly being truthful.  "I like the flames.  Though perhaps, on this red..."  He was reaching down to stroke one of Hot Rod's finials before he could think about how it would look to others.  "...a little more gold, for accents.  It's already beautiful around your optics."

Hot Rod didn't have time to melt under his touch, because Tracks was angrily yelling in his audial.

:: _Hot Rod!_ ::

He froze when he saw his manager's face beyond Megatron's frame.  There was anger there, but a controlled anger.  Tracks had become a master of it over the years.

:: _That doesn't look like selling to me_.::  Tracks didn't yell these words.  He didn't need to.  The threat was expertly veiled beneath them.  Then he added, far more sympathetically.  :: _He's not worth your career, Hot Rod_.::

:: _I know_ ,:: Hot Rod hissed back.

"What was that?" Megatron asked.

"Oh, Megatron, you scoundrel."  Hot Rod lightly swatted his hand away and took a step back.  "If you want to spend time with me, you'll have to pay for it.  I _do_ have other clients to attend to."  Then he blew him a kiss and walked away, feeling his spark plummet into his already roiling tank.  For once he hoped no one offered to buy him a drink.  At least he knew Megatron wouldn't.

But Hot Rod wasn't a perfect model.  Far from it.  He ended up looking back, hoping that he would, too, but he was gone.  The face he would remember would be one of confusion.  This wasn't the Hot Rod he had known.  And then it would dawn on him.  It had all been an act.  Hot Rod was a model, like any other.  Whatever perceived connection he had felt would have been a lie fuelled by credits.  He'd hate Hot Rod now.  He'd hate him for leading him on.

Hot Rod didn't blame him.

There was little time left.  And Hot Rod had even less hope.

At least the bonus from Megatron would last for a while.  If he didn't demand it back.  He could make it on his own again.  If he went back to Nyon, he could find his friends, beg for his job back.  Bots would still want him.  Maybe even more, knowing that he was once a model.  One that they could afford.

Sure, he'd be less protected and paid less, but, it was work.

By now Hot Rod had retreated to the sidelines.  The party was thinning out, and no one had noticed his absence.  Except for Tracks.  He would "coincidentally" pass by him, giving him silent lectures through his glares.  At least at first.  The last two pass-bys, with just minutes left, his optics were full of pity.  Hot Rod had reached pitiful. 

This was it.

"Hot Rod." 

A hand rested so lightly on his back Hot Rod would have easily been able to convince himself that it wasn't there.  But those fingers were still familiar to his frame.  They tingled with fresh memories and warm feelings.  His first instinct was to stop back, more firmly press them to his frame, but he knew he had to resist. 

"Are you alright?" Megatron asked from where he stood in the shadows.  Thankfully, he let his hand fall away.

Hot Rod wanted to turn and face him, but Tracks would have his helm if he saw him speaking to Megatron again, so he put his smile back on and whispered through his denta.  "No.  And I can't talk to you.  I have to work.  I have to make a sale."

"A sale?"

"The alt mode I'm modelling.  I have to sell a scan.  That's the whole reason for this party."  He knew he had to walk away.  He wasn't about to coerce him into buying something he didn't want, no matter how much cred he had, and he couldn't do anything he wanted to with him.  Staying would just make his spark hurt more.  "I have to go." 

And this time, he wouldn't look back.


	6. Chapter 6

After the party, Hot Rod had slag-all to do for the rest of the day.  No sessions, no dress rehearsals-- _nothing_.  Which meant no distractions.  Which meant he'd spent every waking hour after his public appearance sitting on his berth and trying to think about anything else, but he couldn't help but worry about the verdict.  He'd been pampered for so long.  He didn't know if he'd be able to make it on the streets of Nyon again.

He'd tried to watch a movie.  Play a game.  Read.  _Anything_.  But his mind refused to focus and kept flipping between his likely unhappy future, and his happy memories with Megatron-- and they would _stay_ memories.  Hopefully he'd turned him off by now.  Shown that he wasn't interested.  Because he wasn't.  He couldn't be.

Now he was just staring out the window, where he had been watching the setting sun.  On another day, he might have found it pretty.  Enjoy it, even.  But it felt like _he_ was the one setting.  And now there was only darkness.  Darkness, and cold.

The party had been a wasted effort.  He should have just spent the entire evening with Megatron.  At least then when his career went down in flames-- with none of them painted on his frame-- it would have been for a good reason.  This was just sad.  And any moment now someone would be here to--

There was a knock at the door.

Hot Rod's optics moved over to it blearily, just staring.  He didn't want to get it.  If they wanted him out, they'd have to drag him out.  And he'd be taking his blanket with him.  He wrapped himself in it then, feeling a little safer.  But only a little.

The knock came again. 

Hot Rod hid his face beneath his blanket.

"Hot Rod, I know you're in there!"

 _Tracks_?

Slowly, Hot Rod unfurled from the blanket. 

"Well, if you won't let me in, then I guess I'll have to enjoy this bottle of engex all by myself."

He didn't get up for the engex.  Hot Rod wasn't even sure if his tank could take it at this point.  But Tracks wouldn't have brought engex if he didn't also have good news.  He pressed the button for the door to open, and then the lights a fraction of a second later.  He didn't want him to know that he'd been sitting in the dark.

"Hello there, my shining star."  Tracks waved the bottle in Hot Rod's face.  "Courtesy of Megatron."

"I-- huh?"  Hot Rod just stood there, dumbfounded, as Tracks stepped around him and into the room.  "Is Megatron... here?"  He tried not to sound too excited, but he was pretty sure he failed.  Especially when Tracks spoke next.

"Now, Hot Rod, remember what we talked about."

"Yeah, no, I know.  I was just... He's just a client.  Nothing more."

"Mhm."  Tracks gave him a disbelieving look.  "Just make sure it stays that way.  You have no chance with him."

"I know."  It took all of Hot Rod's effort to not let his face fall.  "So... is that a gift from him?"

"In a way."  Tracks smiled.  "While I don't advise you pursuing him, I do advise that you accept whatever he is willing to offer you.  Which is why you've accepted his offer for him to pay for all of your energon indefinitely.  So I took the liberty of picking this up, so we can celebrate properly."  He waved the bottle again.

"In-indefinitely?"  At a party, sure.  A few doses before a session to ensure that he was running properly, he could also understand.  But indefinitely?  And _all_ of it?

"He's a generous mech," Tracks said with a shrug.  "And the organizers are happy to have one less model to fuel.  That, and they're happy to keep someone around if there's someone willing to pay for them."

"Wait, so... they don't care that I didn't make a sale?"

"Oh, darling, of course they did!  Did you think we'd be celebrating over free energon alone?"  Tracks beamed at him and opened his arms in expectation of a hug, which Hot Rod was not going to deny him.

Jumping into his arms, Hot Rod gripped him tight.  His face started to hurt from the smile, but at least it was real. 

"It was only one sale, though," Tracks said, patting his back.  "Just enough to keep you in the game, but the organizers aren't going to give you anything too special for a while.  You know that, right?"

"I don't care!"  Hot Rod jumped away from him, cheering and pumping his fists in the air.  He wanted to hug whatever idiot decided to buy this junky alt mode.  He would have felt bad if whoever it was didn't have enough credits for fifty lifetimes.

"They do want to keep you in this alt mode for a little while longer.  I know you're probably anxious to get rid of it, but you're going to need to go out and show it off."

"I will wear this thing forever if it means I get to keep modelling!" Hot Rod danced happily, loving the dizzy feeling in his processor.  How light his frame felt.  He wanted to feel this happy, always. 

"I know you're happy, but how about you have a seat?" 

He didn't like the tone of Tracks' voice.  Hot Rod stopped, the happiness Tracks had just spoke of ebbing away.  What had he done wrong?

Tracks pulled out the chair from his vanity table.  "I can clean you up, and we can talk."

"Talk?"  Hot Rod made his way over, sitting down and looking at his face in the mirror.  He'd managed to smear the gold across his face.  He didn't look like a model.  He looked like a mess.

"Yes, Hot Rod."  Tracks took a cleaning rag to his face, and it came back shimmering and gold.  Quite frankly, the cloth looked better than he did.  Maybe it should be the one modelling.  "It's about Megatron, darling."

Hot Rod scoffed.  "What about him?"

Tracks wiped away the paint around his other optic.  "We need to talk about what happened at the party."

"Nothing happened at the party!"

"Hot Rod."  Tracks used his serious, shut-the-frag-up voice.  It worked.  "I know what I saw, and I know what you're going through.  It's not fair, I know.  I think you should be allowed to date.  To fall in love.  But the fact of the matter is that as long as you are a model, you aren't allowed.  And they mean it when they say that they will drop you.  You know how many bots would kill to be in your position, right?"  His words stung, but the cool refresher wipe on his face felt so nice.

Hot Rod sighed.  "Yes."

"Good.  And they will be even more envious once you make your rise to fame."  Tracks beamed.  "So don't let one mech who treated you nicely ruin all of that.  Because I can guarantee that he isn't worth it, and as much as you think 'he's different,' he probably isn't."

"I know," Hot Rod said, defeated.

"I'm not trying to discourage you, darling."  Tracks tilted his chin up, but he couldn't stop him from looking so crestfallen.  "One day, after you've made it, you'll wonder why you ever wanted him in the first place."

"Yes, Tracks."

Tracks clicked his glossa.  "Darling, it hurts me when you hurt."  He grabbed and filled the overly fancy glass that Hot Rod was far too festive for how he was feeling right then, but he accepted it when it was handed to him.  "Drink this.  I got your favourite.  If nothing else, be happy that you've gotten his interest.  He doesn't seem like the crazy type, so you're bound to be reaping in his credits for a long while.  Just make sure to keep him on his toes.  Don't ever let him think for sure that you're interested in him.  Play hard to get.  So hard to get, that even if he was sure you were interested, he'd still have his doubts."

"Yes, Tracks," Hot Rod repeated in the same monotone.  He took a sip of the drink, but even the sweetness on his glossa didn't change the ache in his chest.  It felt like nothing would.  This was just something he'd have to get used to.  As present as the ache in his pedes after a long day.  Only laying in berth would do nothing to help this ache.

"What can I do to make it better?" Tracks asked.

Hot Rod shrugged.

"Right.  Broken sparks don't mend so easily."  Tracks gave a little sigh and leaned against the vanity table.  "Well, on the bright side, you don't have any commitments for the next few days.  So let yourself sulk for a while.  But do try to enjoy some of this time off.  Oh, I know!  We could do some shopping on Megatron's shanix.  Buy you something nice.  How does that sound?"

"Sure."

"And it would be good publicity.  Plus, we can dress up this drab look.  That always makes you feel better, yeah?"  Tracks rubbed his shoulder.

"I'd like that, Tracks."  Hot Rod managed to smile at him, and it was only a little fake.  Window shopping might be able to take his processor off of Megatron, if just for a little while.  He knew he couldn't spend it.  Not when Megatron might take it away.  Even the engex sat uneasily in his tank.  He wouldn't put it past the organizers to pump his tank and take it back if Megatron reneged on his offer.  And he would.  Once he knew Hot Rod wouldn't be pursuing anything with him.

But a nice jewel inlay could make it all better, right? 

 

It was midday on the second wasted day off, when Hot Rod received a ping from his bank.  He had been waiting for this moment, and was surprised it had taken this long.  At first, he didn't check it.  The show he'd been binge watching all day suddenly seemed interesting.  He wanted to live in ignorance just a little longer.  He'd check once the episode was done.  That's what he told himself.  But five episodes and a setting sun later, he still hadn't looked.  It was only once he received another ping that he got curious.

Pausing the TV, he groaned as he pushed himself up from the berth.  He'd basically been there the whole time.  He got up only when the service drone brought him energon.  Just plain energon.  He was too afraid to ask for anything else, because eventually Megatron was going to revoke that, too.  He didn't want to risk getting used to anything nice.

Pulling up his HUD, Hot Rod sucked in a ventilation and held it.  He let it out, shocked, when he checked his balance as saw that it was basically the same.  A little higher now, even.  Even more curious, he opened to check the two new transactions. 

Both of them were for exactly 100 credits.  Strange.  It wasn't enough to constitute a paycheck, and he could not remember asking for a refund on anything.  Much less two identical payments.  But then he saw that they where they had come from.  _Megatron_.  Hot Rod couldn't decide if this made more or less sense, but they had messages.

He checked the first one.

 _If you want to see me again, transfer this payment back to me_.

Hot Rod's spark soared in his chest.  Megatron still liked him.  Even after everything he'd done, he still wanted to see him. 

His spark fell just as quickly.  He _couldn't_.  He wasn't allowed.  The truth hurt, but he had to choose between Megatron and his job.  And he didn't spend all those years working to get here just to throw it away.  No matter how happy Megatron made him feel.  The warmth in his chest wouldn't be enough if he didn't have a roof over his helm and energon in his tanks.  Most of the time, anyway.  At least he was guaranteed fuel in his off time.

Even so, there was no harm in checking his other message.

_If you don't want to see me again, and I understand if you don't, transfer this payment._

Just as he finished reading the message, another transfer appeared.  Again, from Megatron.  This one was for 1000 shanix.

_I want to see you again, Hot Rod.  You can keep this payment, no matter what your answer is._

Oh, Megatron.

Hot Rod grabbed a pillow and hugged it to his frame, but it just wasn't the same.  He wanted Megatron here.  Right now.  He wanted to feel his hands on his frame.  Large and strong, and yet oh so careful.  He wanted to just lie with him in berth all day, talking about nothing, or not even talking at all. 

He knew what answer he _should_ give him, and he knew which answer he _wanted_ to give him.  Now the trick was convincing himself that he wanted to say no.

Taking a deep ventilation, cursor hovering over his answer, he hit "refund transfer."


	7. Chapter 7

A rescan.  _Finally_.

Hot Rod was the third model to get this alt mode.  He didn't know either of their names, and he doubted that they knew his.  Which meant they weren't famous nor were they horrible.  Right back where he started.  But he was happy to have a job at all, and sometimes the plainer alt modes were the easier sales.

Feeling the plating shift and mold around his protoform was one of Hot Rod's favourite feelings.  It was almost orgasmic.  He found himself holding back a little moan, but thankfully, his programming didn't ask him to activate.  Scanning was probably one of those times it was deactivated.  Especially if it felt this good to everyone, but he'd never really asked.  He was too afraid to find out that this was just something weird with him.

The best part about a rescan, though, was that Hot Rod had a chance to reinvent himself.  Nobody would be able to peg him for the flame-covered mech of his past.  He could be whoever he wanted to be.  Ethereal like Knock Out.  Seductive like Starscream.  He'd always wanted to try the diva angle Tracks had used in his day, but that'd sooner get him fired at this point.  While there were many possibilities, his new persona had to fit in above all else.  He had to be alluring in a way that drew just enough attention to get by.  For now. 

He was glad to have some curves back.  He'd have to feel himself up a little more in private.  Hopefully he'd get a client who wanted him to touch himself.  It wasn't too much of a stretch.

Following the other two who would be modelling the same mode, they walked past a big mirror on the way to the stage.  Hot Rod couldn't help but check himself out, and was glad to see he wasn't the only one doing it.  He caught the optic of the other mech, and they shared a giggle, then did some silly poses and made some horrendous faces.  At least until they were out past the curtain, where every bot's manager flocked to them.

Hot Rod was granted a bit of air, as Tracks wasn't done with one of the other models he managed.  So, he continued checking himself out in a mirror on the far side of the room.  He wasn't much more than a grey blob, but he got the general sense of his shape. 

He was glad to have a spoiler again.  Wings were always just a little on the too sensitive side, while having nothing on his back felt like a waste.  A spoiler was a happy middle ground, and no one could deny that he was cute when he let it flutter a little.  All wings had on a spoiler was a larger emote range, but if Hot Rod was trying to hide what he was really feeling, which he would have to soon, they would be a hindrance.  Hopefully he wouldn't be as scrutinized when they had their show in Iacon.

"Okay, Hot Rod," Tracks said as he came over, sounding out of breath.  "They're not allowing you to pick your paintjob this time around."

Hot Rod couldn't help it.  His spoiler fell.

"I know, darling, I know."  Tracks gave him a sympathetic look.  "It's just until you can convince them that you're a money maker.  Until then, you've got to blend in.  But not too much.  Don't lose yourself among the other models, but don't do anything that will pull attention from the stars.  So, stand out among your equals, but don't overstep it.  Got it?"

"I got it."  Hot Rod managed a little smile.  He had to remind himself that he was lucky to have a job at all.  And he'd worked his way to the top, he'd get there again.

Gasps and "ooohs" announced Knock Out's presence.  He strut onto the stage, a small smile on his face, not quite _ignoring_ everyone so much as basking in their appreciation without acknowledging their presence. 

Hot Rod couldn't help gawking a little himself when he saw him.  Every time he did he always managed to wow him, and he wanted to command the stage as he did.

For this show he was modelling a supercar, in _purple_ of all colours!  With rims the same colour as the tires around them.  But he rocked it.  He'd probably be able to scan a construction vehicle and still sell scans to every client who so much as looked at him.  He demanded attention without ever having to say a word.

"Look at me, not him," Tracks said sternly.

Hot Rod had to shake his helm to refocus his gaze, but even then he was more focused on the purple blob beyond Tracks' head.  Would bots ever look at him the same way?

"Get a move on, darling."  Tracks gave him a light back-handed smack to the aft when he held up the line.  "You're going to be getting a black paintjob this time.  If you're lucky they'll let us get some silver accents on you as well.  They're going for a dark, elegant line.  Bright colours are out this season."

That would explain Knock Out's abandonment of his red paint and gold rims.  If he was upset about it, he didn't show it.  Either way, he was still a million times the model that Hot Rod was.  And a million times hotter.  He didn't need to paint garish flames on himself to let everyone know that.  He commanded every room he walked into.

Hot Rod wanted to be that. 

But for now, he could close his optics and relish in the many brushes and sprays turning his frame to pitch.  He didn't think the "elegant" look would suit him, but it didn't look half bad.  He fared better than the other two, at least.  One was put in a dark green that should really only be used on bots who were so old they forgot how old they were.  The other was a little luckier, but the dark grey left something to be desired. 

Though, Hot Rod still hoped Tracks could swing some of that silver.

After the paint had dried, Hot Rod joined the buffing line, and once they were done with him he was glossy enough to see himself in his finish.

Then came the t-cog tests.  No use running a dress rehearsal if someone needed a replacement.  Hot Rod knew he was getting close to burning out his current one, but after transforming back and forth five times, it was still working.  Albeit a little awkwardly, but that was normal after a rescan. 

After he was given the all-clear, Hot Rod hopped off of the stage to join the other models who were done.  While some of them chatted, others had dropped into their alt modes to test them out, Hot Rod among them.  He revved the engine a couple times, thankful that this one had more power behind it than that piece of junk they'd had him modelling before.  He hoped he'd have enough time between all of the preparations to take it around the track a couple times.  It always helped to calm his nerves before a show.

It was fun to finally see what everyone would be modelling the next day.  Hot Rod cruised around them, able to take it all in without being too obvious.  Though he was rather conspicuous when he stopped with his front pointed to the stage, watching Knock Out transform back and forth.

It was hypnotic.  The way that even his plating shifting seemed elegant.  Hell, even just _standing there_ , he looked elegant.  He never knew someone could look gorgeous while someone checked on his t-cog.

Hot Rod gave a surprised rev of his engine when someone stopped before him and tapped on his hood.  He transformed to find Tracks in front of him.

"They're allowing you some silver detailing," he informed him.  "And once you're done you are to go right up to your room and stay there until you're called down for tomorrow's final rehearsal."

"Yeah, yeah, Tracks, I know the rules."

"I'm just reminding you, since you seem so focused on other things."  Tracks pointedly put himself between him and Knock Out.  "You need to focus on your career now, Hot Rod.  You're going to be under heavy scrutiny for the next while, so be good.  Don't take any unnecessary risks.  Be on time.  Better yet, be _early_.  And practice!  You were off at the last few rehearsals."

"I _know_."  Hot Rod hated being reminded of his failures. 

"I'm sorry I have to be so harsh with you, Hot Rod."  Tracks put both his hands on Hot Rod's shoulders.  "But I have to be.  I need to know I got through to you."

"I'll be good," Hot Rod promised.

Tracks smiled.  "That's my star.  Oh!  And they're not allowing any impermanent paint.  Not even on your face.  They want everyone to look clean and polished.  So do wax and buff once you wake up."

"No face stuff, wax and buff.  I got it."

"And since I know you're going to ignore the rules and go racing, do it tonight.  And be _careful_.  You need to keep yourself prettied up for the show.  The last thing your career needs is dented fender."

" _Okay_."

"Don't give me that sass, Hot Rod."  Tracks let him go.  "Now, I have other models to attend to.  They'll call you back in a few minutes for your detailing."  As he left, he threw over his shoulder, "You'll do great, darling!"

When Hot Rod looked back at the stage, Knock Out had disappeared.  He didn't know what he was hoping for.  Maybe to talk to him.  But he knew in his spark that Knock Out wouldn't look his way.  The only part of him that ever garnered any lasting attention, good or bad, had been replaced by blackness.

* * *

 

Hot Rod sat idling at the start line.  Any other day he would have just raced off, not caring if he got a scratch or two.  They'd be buffed out.  But they often went unnoticed on his flashy paint job.  But any nick would be noticeable on the black.  And he'd never hear the end of it if he scratched up the silver filigree. 

But this engine _screamed_ fast.

He revved said engine a couple times, relishing in how the sound echoed around him in the large, empty room.  If he were capable of it, Hot Rod might have overloaded then and there.  The vibrations coursing through his frame would have been enough to do it.

He had to race.  He had to get these jitters out of his frame.  He had to really feel what this thing could do.  It made it much easier to sell when he knew exactly what it was capable of.  Numbers weren't able to tell his clients if the back end had too much weight, or if the steering was sensitive.  And sometimes that knowledge was the difference between a dozen sales or none at all.

That, and it was fun as hell.

Sucking air deep into his vents, Hot Rod squealed his tires and peeled off. 

The _speed_.  This engine was an untameable animal.  Hot Rod's frame was just barely holding on to the ride.  Now his paint job seemed _very_ wrong.  About as wrong as this track.  It was by far the smallest of any that he'd been on, but even the biggest one was too small.  If they would allow him to go out in public, he'd find some open road and really let loose.  Push this engine to its limits.  But for now, he'd have to brake hard and get as much speed as he could on the straightaways. 

He had to think too much.  Slow down on the hairpin.  Don't burn too much off of the tires.  Watch that dirt patch!

Swerving to avoid the filth, Hot Rod then had to skid to a stop to avoid crashing.  Venting hard, he sat idling in an alt mode that was better than this.  It wasn't fair.  There were so many rules to follow.  So many things that were off limits to him.

Hot Rod transformed back into his root mode, and as much as he wanted to scream and throw his fists at the wall, he kept them at his sides, clenching hard.  Always watching out for his paintjob.  Never able to have a little fun.  Everything was about pleasing the client.

But what would make _Hot Rod_ happy?

The door to the track closed with a slam that echoed throughout the room.  "That was close."

"Not _now_ Tracks!"  Hot Rod pointedly turned his back towards him.

"Yes, now," Tracks said as he walked down the flight of steps.  "I think someone's forgetting where they are."

"I'm on a stupid track that's too fragging small!"  Hot Rod felt a little better when he angrily revved his engine.  It _sang_ , even in rage.  It didn't deserve to suffer in a frame that wasn't allowed to let it run free.  Who was he to keep it caged?

"I'll take you out to an outdoor track the day after the show, provided you're careful."

Hot Rod scoffed.  "I'm being careful _here_."

"You almost crashed into that wall."  Tracks made his way over to Hot Rod, crossing his arms.  "I told you that you need to keep the alt mode _pristine_."

"Yeah, I know.  _You told me_.  Like you tell me how to do everything."  Hot Rod started to walk away.

"Hot Rod."  Tracks' voice was quiet with sympathy.  "I am on your side.  I'm just trying to look out for you.  If I tell you that you need to do something, it's because it's what's best for you."

Hot Rod stopped.  He gave a startled and angry rev of his engine when he felt Tracks' hand on his shoulder.

"This is about Megatron, isn't it?"

"What?"  Hot Rod spun around.  "No!"

"I won't give you another lecture," Tracks said.  "But I guarantee that you will have forgotten him by the time we get to Iacon.  Just one more week.  I know you can do it.  Because I see potential in you.  Potential that I don't want to see wasted on someone like him.  Someone who doesn't deserve you."

"This isn't about Megatron!  I just...  I want my freedom back.  I want to come and go as I please.  I want to not be afraid of getting a few scratches.  I don't want to have this _fragging programming_ dictating my goddamn life!"

"It won't always be like this.  Once you're at the top, they'll be far more lenient with you.  And after that, you can still be a part of the process.  An organizer, a stylist, or a manager like me."

"I don't want to be a manager!"  Hot Rod realized he was whining, but damn it, he should be allowed to!  "Or a stylist, or an organizer, or anything!  I just want to model.  And race.  I want everyone's optics on me."

"You're getting that.  You're _living_ that!  Do you understand just how lucky you are to be here?"

"I know!"  Hot Rod put his hands on his helm.  "I know.  I'm a spoiled brat and I should be happy!  This is all I've ever wanted!  But I'm not!"  He let his hands drop and turned to face Tracks.  He hated seeing the pity in his optics.  "I'm not happy.  Why am I not happy Tracks?"

With a sigh, Tracks sat down against the wall.  "Come.  Sit.  Talk."

"Oh, but I might scuff my paint job!" Hot Rod said sarcastically, rolling his optics.

"I'll buff you later.  Now sit."

"I just want to go lay--"

" _Sit_."  Tracks fixed him with his I-mean-business look.

" _Fine_."  Hot Rod purposely sat hard, and got a well deserved glare from Tracks, but he didn't comment.

"This job is a labour of love.  Until you prove that you are worth your weight in gold, which you _are_.  But until then, you have to put up with the cons of the job.  And while, yes, the programming can be... irritating, sometimes it's good, right?  You were happy to have it when that...  I can't remember his name.  The one from Praxus.  Imagine trying to interface with him without the programming.  I know I thanked the stars that I had it many a time."

"That guy?"  Hot Rod suppressed a shudder.  "Yeah, okay, it was good then.  But I could have handled one time." 

"And they've given you mods you could never have afforded before."

"Yeah, rub it in why don't you?"

"I'm not trying to belittle you, just stating a fact.  I want to help you see the good in the things they've given you.  And I want you to know that, yes, it's hard.  Yes, it's unfair.  And yes, I agree that a lot of their rules are unnecessary.  But that's just the way it is, Hot Rod.  You want to be a model?  This is what it takes to be a model."  Tracks sighed and rested a hand on Hot Rod's shoulder while he glared at the floor, spoiler canted.  "You need to get by for now.  You were dealt a bad card.  You'll bounce back.  When you're not under so much scrutiny, you'll have more freedom.  Once you make it, you'll find yourself calling the shots.  From the penthouse.  Don't you want that?"

"It's hard to see the penthouse from the bottom floor."

"This?"  Tracks tapped the silver filigree on his arm.  "This isn't the bottom floor.  You were never on the bottom floor.  You and I both know you have more talent in your pinky than most of those models have in their whole frame.  But you forget that sometimes.  Because sometimes a star can't see its own shine until someone holds up a mirror.  And, damn it, I will hold up that mirror as many times as you need me to."  Then he frowned a little.  "And while I'm reminding you of how special you are, I will also remind you that I am sticking my neck out for you to get you another shot at the fame you deserve.  I don't do this for everyone.  But I will do it for you.  _If_ you work, and you work hard.  Pay your dues.  Suck it up for now.  Before you know it, you will be reaping the benefits of your new found fame.  Just like Starscream.  Just like Knock Out.  Do you think that they popped out of the ground as famous as they are now?"

Hot Rod hugged his knees to his chest.  His voice muffled, he said, "No."

"Good.  So you get it.  They worked hard, and now they're at the top."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it.  Can you drop it now?"

"Are you going to be every bit the perfect model tomorrow?"  Tracks gave him a cheeky but expectant smile.

"Yeah."

"You're going to do as you're told?  Follow everyone's orders and not complain about anyone I set you up with?"

"Frag, _yes_.  I'll be good."

"Better than good."

With an exasperated noise, Hot Rod said, "Yes."

"Okay."  Tracks booped Hot Rod, grinning wider when he crinkled his nose.  "Now, let's get you upstairs so you can get some sleep.  Remember: a well rested model is a good model!"

* * *

 

Hot Rod was glad to not be the only one wearing this alt mode.  It meant the attention wasn't solely focused on him.  Modelling a vehicle was one thing.  When he was in his vehicle mode, it didn't matter what his smile looked like or if his optics and biolights were bright enough.  All he had to worry about on his wheels, was how the light was catching his frame, and that he revved his engine enough to get the crowd excited, but not so much that is became obnoxious. 

The strut down the aisle was much more nerve-wracking.  One slip of a pede could ruin his entire image, and potentially have him end up in someone's lap.  He'd seen it happen.  Once.

He had his hands on his hips which he jutted out far more than his normal gait would allow.  Apparently, this was how one was "alluring."  Personally, Hot Rod thought they all looked stupid doing it, but he'd realized by now that his opinion didn't matter.

His face hurt from smiling, but it was thankfully from real smiles.  Because he looked good, and he knew he looked good, and he knew he looked better than the other two.  Especially with the silver filigree stark against his black paint job.  Across his chest and down his forearms and calves, with his spoiler done up completely silver.  Tonight when bots told him he looked good, he would believe them.

But that still didn't stop his nervousness when they reached the turnaround.  He was second in line out of the three, which meant he became the centre of attention. 

Cameras flashed to a blinding degree, and Hot Rod did their practised turns, and they were nearly in sync.  Nearly.  The one who got the unfortunate green paint job, with not even one stroke of an accent colour, missed the cue, and ended up a half-beat behind them.  A tiny mistake, but still noticeable.  The kind of mistake Hot Rod wouldn't be allowed to make.  Not today.  Not if he wanted to keep his career.

Somehow, he made it through the rest of the performance.  At some point he must have gone on autopilot, because he didn't really remember it.  Everything was a blur of loud music, matte colours, and flashing lights.

"You did great out there!" Tracks praised him, bringing him back to reality.

"What?  Oh.  Yeah.  Thanks."  He managed a smile.

"No time to rest, though.  A client's booked you for the first session.  The big suite."  Tracks' optics glittered with pride, and probably from the prospect of the big commission he was going to earn.  Giving Hot Rod a light swat to his aft, he said, "Hop to it!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the "dubious consent" chapter, so be warned.

Laying down on the berth, Hot Rod took a moment to enjoy how plush it was.  Softness cradled his frame, and it felt even better on his freshly buffed plating.  He rolled around in the silky smoothness.  Smiling, even giggling a little.  No matter who was going to walk through that door, enjoying this would be reward enough. 

Whoever had booked him had obviously thought he looked gorgeous if they sprang for the most expensive suite.  So maybe they'd also let him enjoy a bit of that engex in the fancy bottle on the table.  Tied up with a red ribbon.

What a lovely little bow.  Hot Rod wished he could tie it around his neck.  He was the real present here.  And it would look so lovely against his new paint job.

But there were other matters.  His client would be here at any moment.

Hot Rod thought about something sexy.  Something generic.  Or he tried to.  He stroked fingers up his plating, but that only reminded him of Megatron's careful touches.  He was back in that hotel room.  On a berth even more grand than this one.  Megatron curling his frame around him.  Struggling to not let the cuddling turn into something else.  But this time, he was quite happy to see the request for his programming to activate.  He approved it, and shivered as the warmth flooded his veins.

Now the sheets felt even better.  Like thousands of careful hands caressing his frame and alighting his senses.  It was the closest he was going to get to foreplay that night.

Settling into a comfortable and sexy pose, Hot Rod gently stroked up his thigh, stoking the fire his coding had sparked.  Still.  He was excited to be touched again.  He was excited for someone to get familiar with this new frame.  He'd get to find out where all the sensitive spots were.  The first frag was always the most fun.

Hot Rod jumped when the door opened a crack, but quickly set his optics back to sultry and his frame relaxed before it opened all the way.  The look turned to surprise and then giddy happiness when he saw those broad shoulders.

"Megatron!"  He jumped off the berth and then into his arms as he opened them to welcome him, bringing him close. 

"It was even harder to recognize you with this paint job," Megatron teased.  He tilted Hot Rod's chin up.  "But I knew it was you as soon as I saw your optics."

Hot Rod giggled and hid his face.

"So, what would you like to do?" Megatron asked as he lead Hot Rod over to the berth.  "I know we can't do all that much in here, but at least we're together."  He sat Hot Rod down, and watched him with caring optics as he lay down.  "Any ideas?"

"I've already activated my programming," Hot Rod said sadly.  At least, he tried to.  Every word dripped with unintended lust.  Though, given his present company, he didn't mind too much.  Wanted or not, he still wished he could control his frame.  Let Megatron rile him up on his own.  Another unfairness.

"Then let's get to it."  Megatron crawled up the berth, and Hot Rod had no choice but to lie back and let him put his hands all over his frame.  Not that he minded.  But then he stopped.  Looked into Hot Rod's glazed over optics.  "If you're alright with that, of course."

"It's not like I _have_ a choice."  The bitterness managed to break through his breathy voice.

One of Megatron's hands moved to the berth and he lifted himself off of him.  The other came up to stroke his face.  "Of course you do.  You always have a choice."

"No, I don't."  Hot Rod shook and rubbed his thighs together.  "Because not fragging you means I suffer for _hours_.  Not to mention it will be suspicious as hell and could very well cost me my job.  So don't tell me I have a damn choice!"  He covered his mouth, his optics wide, but he was too late.  The words were out.  He'd yelled at a client.  He'd yelled at _Megatron_.  There would be no worrying about anything now.  "I'm s-sorry, oh God..."

"You don't have to apologize to me, Hot Rod.  You have a right to be angry.  You can vent to me if you want."

"But you paid for me," Hot Rod whispered.  He snapped open his valve cover.  "You can do whatever you want to me.  I'm yours for the next hour."

Megatron didn't even look down.  "I don't want you to have to think like that with me."

"But you paid for me!"

"Hey."  Megatron pet his finials.  "I'm paying you because this is your job and I'm not about to deny you your livelihood.  I'm paying you, because I wanted to talk to you.  I'm paying you, because from what you told me, this is the only way I can see you without arousing any suspicion."  He sighed pitifully when another wave of arousal hit Hot Rod and sent him into a bout of shivers.  "It's _sick_ what they've done to you.  Because you're right, they've taken away your right to choose.  And I don't want to force myself on to you, but I can't leave you like this.  So tell me how I can make you the most comfortable.  What can I do for you that will ease you through this as quickly as possible?"

"Primus, just... just frag me."  He turned his helm to look at the blank wall.  What a familiar sight.  "Whatever will make you overload fastest."

"I'm so sorry, Hot Rod."  He made a noise that was half a sigh and half a growl.  Hot Rod tried not to shrink away from it, but he still did.  "If we ever do this again, and you can tell me if you don't want to and I will respect that, but if we do I will tell you that it's me.  I will give you this choice.  You deserve the right to consent."  He paused, and Hot Rod felt his optics on him, but he didn't turn his helm.  Even when Megatron sighed again.  "I'll make it quick."

The sight of Megatron's spike pressurizing and then entering him, without a word or any touching otherwise, was an all too familiar sight.  It wasn't unpleasant.  No, the programming made sure he felt good.  A pro, he supposed.  Or maybe it was a con with him.

"I'm not hurting you?" Megatron checked in once he was fully seated inside of him.

"You can't hurt me," Hot Rod assured him, his voice as flat as the programming would allow.

"I'm going to move now, okay?"

"Just get it over with!" Hot Rod snapped, meeting his optics for only a moment.  He returned his gaze to the wall, moaning in spite of the chaos spinning in his spark.  He arched and grasped at Megatron's back as he began a steady pace.  He pulled him down until he could hide in his neck and not look into his optics.  He was a client.  He was getting paid for this.  There was nothing different about this.  He just had to go through the motions.

Megatron didn't fight his grasp, even though he easily could.  But he did turn his helm until Hot Rod could see red in his peripheries.  "Are you still okay?"

"Mm, it's good, baby."  Hot Rod felt Megatron falter, but he didn't stop fragging him.  Wrapping his legs around his hips, he asked, "Is it good for you?"

"You don't have to do this, Hot Rod."

Hot Rod bit his lip.  He stifled the next moan, digging his fingertips into Megatron's back.

Pulling up just enough to see Hot Rod's face, and seeing him fighting against the coding, he asked again, "Am I hurting you?"

Hot Rod shook his helm.  He couldn't help the little grunt that escaped him.

"You don't have to keep quiet," Megatron murmured.  He stroked his cheek lightly.  "I just don't need you to put on a show for me.  I just want to give you relief."  As gently as ever, he left a trail of kisses along his jaw neck and chest.  Once he was finished he cupped a shaking Hot Rod's cheek and asked, "Better or worse?"

"Better."  He reached up and stroked his cheek the same way Megatron was.  "Please touch me, Megatron.  I-I want to interface with you.  I'm sorry I was so--nh!"

"Shh..."  A black thumb caressed Hot Rod's lips.  "You don't have to apologize to me.  I will do whatever you want me to."

"Touch me.  New frame."  He managed a smile, and even a little excitement.  He should be happy.  Megatron was the only one he could ask to do this.  "You can have some fun figuring it out?"

"Is that what you want?"

"I want you."  Hot Rod swirled his hips, revelling in how fluidly his calipers moved to accommodate.  He supposed he should be grateful for some of the mods.  While there was a lot stopping them from being together, without his resizing mod they would have a lot of difficulty doing something like this.  Not without a ton of foreplay and a slow build-up.  "I want you to touch me.  Everywhere."

Hot Rod's leg followed Megatron's hand as he stroked up it, dragging a low moan from his voicebox.  He kissed at his calf and then rested his forehelm against it.  He closed his optics and let out a moan of his own, finally starting to enjoy himself.

Good.  He should be enjoying himself.

"How does that feel?" Hot Rod asked.  He let a hand fall to his abdomen, remembering how much Megatron had enjoyed watching this the first time.  He couldn't deny that it was pretty hot to feel the head of his spike pushing at his abdominal plating.

"No one has ever felt better," Megatron murmured.  He stroked down his leg and then up the curve of his waist.  Once he made it all the way up to his hand he interlocked their fingers and then stooped down to kiss at Hot Rod's neck.  His rumbling voice tickled in the most delightful way as he spoke.  "How are you doing?  Anything standing out?" 

"Try the spoiler."  Hot Rod flapped it, intakes hitching as it was caressed by the silkiness.  "Always a safe bet."

Like a charm, fingers stroking that sensitive metal had Hot Rod arching and moaning, his optics shutting tight.  No acting required.  It coaxed a smile out of Megatron.  Which was much better than the partly pained look he'd been trying his best to hide.  But he was nowhere near the actor that Hot Rod was.  He saw through it in a second.

"I take it you often have one of these," Megatron murmured, stooping down to kiss his neck at the same time.

Hot Rod's optics rolled back into his helm.  He hoped Megatron's question was rhetorical, because he didn't know if he could open his mouth and make words fall out.  It didn't matter a moment later, because Megatron put his lips on his, muffling him.  He pulled off and paused a moment later, their optics meeting in the haze.  Hot Rod pulled him back down when he realized how much he had missed those lips.  He held his helm firmly.  He didn't even care that his valve was beginning to ache from the lack of overload.  Megatron was here.  Megatron was kissing him.  For however long he had him, he had him.  And if this was the last time he'd ever see him, he was going to enjoy it.  Not squander it over the morality of his situation.

"Don't rush," Hot Rod whispered into his mouth. 

"What?"  Megatron stopped, halfway inside of him.

"This.  Don't rush it.  I want you, Megatron.  I was going to frag whoever came through that door and now I'm with the one bot I actually want and I'm complaining about stupid things."  One more kiss upon his lips.  It was meant to be brief, but it was anything but.  After it was over, they shared another long look. 

He was going to miss this.  He was going to miss everything about Megatron, but mostly this.  He'd been shut up with plenty of kisses, but none that made him more happy to be silent.

"I will give you whatever will make you happy," Megatron murmured.  He slowly rocked into him, planting soft kisses all over Hot Rod, and always making sure he returned to shut him up some more.

The whole facade fell away as he let himself over to the real passion between them.  If it weren't for the reminders that he was nothing more than a place for bots to dump their transfluid in, Hot Rod might have been able to imagine that they were lovers.  They would cuddle after and not have to check the time, because there was nowhere either of them needed to be.  They would kiss and giggle and whisper words that didn't matter, and yet meant the world to them.

Hot Rod groaned and clenched his denta when what should have been an overload bled off into nothingness.  He was left with a confused ache in his valve as Megatron's spike kept pushing him open.

"Are you close?"  There was regret in Hot Rod's optics as he asked this.

"Am I hurting you?" 

Hot Rod almost laughed.  By stopping, he kind of was.

"No," Hot Rod reassured him, framing his face with his hands.  "And, god, I love this so much.  But--"

"The programming," Megatron assumed.  He started moving again, even picking up the pace a little.  "We'll still have whatever's left of the hour to spend together."

"Okay."  Hot Rod smiled.  He let his arms fall above his helm.  Opening himself up to him.  "I did enjoy this, though.  I still am."

"I'm still sorry."  Megatron left apologies all over his helm.  He took extra care on audial flares, his lips even more gentle than before.  "How you feel now doesn't change how you felt before we started."

"I'd feel a lot better..."  Hot Rod met Megatron's optics, and somehow it didn't stop him from finishing his sentence.  "... if you held my hands."

It was only a second more before he had something to grasp.  Misaligned fingers holding tight among the silky sheets.  Hot Rod held on like this would be the last time he could.  It probably would be.  He didn't want to think that way.  It would tarnish this.  But it was true, wasn't it?

"Anything to ease you through this," Megatron murmured.  "Or to enhance it.  All you have to do is ask."

"Oh, god."  Hot Rod's grip turned iron and his knuckles strained as the programming bled off an overload.  "Megatron, it's so good, but--" 

"I'm close," Megatron whispered.  His ventilations grew ragged as he started to really give it to him.  "It will all be over soon."

What a bittersweet ending.  His frame begged for relief while his spark wished for this to never end.  Having Megatron inside of him was better than not having him around him at all.  But even if they went as long as they could, they only had an hour.  Less what they had used.  There would never be enough would there?  Always searching for a few extra minutes.  Maybe Tracks was right.  Maybe this was a bad idea.

Megatron's ventilations came faster and faster.  He held Hot Rod's hands as tightly as he was.  Even on the verge of overload, he still asked him, "Are you still alright?"

In way of answer, Hot Rod wrapped his legs around Megatron's hips and helped him along.  When Megatron nestled his helm in his neck, he murmured in his audial, "I'm fine.  Just focus on overloading."  Then he made sure to make those low, breathy moans that always managed to drive his clients wild.  Megatron was no different.  He overloaded with a grunt and Hot Rod with a whimper that ended on a smile.

"I'm sorry, Hot Rod," Megatron whispered, still panting.

Hot Rod shook his helm.  "Don't blame yourself."

"I am part of the reason you're here."  Megatron slowly pulled out, but he didn't pull away as he depressurized his spike.  Instead, he rolled off of Hot Rod onto his side, stroking his cheek.  "So I should take some of the blame."

"But I don't want you to."  Hot Rod rolled onto his side and put his back to Megatron's front.  He shifted his arms around him, leaving a kiss on the top of his helm.

"I want to take you out."  Megatron glanced at the clock.  "Properly."

Hot Rod stopped himself from sighing and turned his helm so Megatron couldn't see his optics dim with sadness.  "We can't.  I told you."

"You said you weren't allowed," Megatron corrected.  "But what if nobody found out you's even left?"  He stroked at Hot Rod's neck, then gave a gentle tug on his jaw.  "I will always give you a choice, Hot Rod.  If I am pushing, you can tell me.  You do not have to come out with me if you think it is too much of a risk.  I'm just happy that I get to see you at all.  And..." 

Another gentle tug, and Hot Rod finally turned to look.  His pre-programmed smile fell away when he saw the same sadness, though much fainter, in Megatron's optics.  He let his worry, his fear, his desperation...  He let it all show.  He turned until he lay on his back, and then some more until he was facing Megatron's chest.  Back in the best place in the world. 

"You have no obligation to continue any of this with me."  Absentminded fingers stroked audial flares.  "I will leave you alone if you so desire.  And I will not revoke any of the gifts I have given to you.  As they are gifts.  The money is better spent on you, anyways."

"Why?"

"Hm?"

Hot Rod lifted his helm until Megatron could see only his optics.  He would have been lying if he said that a part of him wasn't doing this because he knew how cute it made him look. 

"Why are you doing all of this for me?"

"Selfish reasons."

Hot Rod gave a surprised yelp as Megatron easily pulled him up the berth until their optics were on the same level.  Such raw strength.  And yet, when they next fell upon his frame, they were as gentle as could be.  Carefully stroking his plating. 

With soft, half-lidded optics, Megatron regarded him.  "I like you.  I want you.  And if I can't have you, I at least want to know that you're safe and healthy."

"But you don't have to."  Hot Rod hid his helm in the crook of Megatron's neck when the optic contact became a little too intense. 

Megatron chuckled.  "I'm well aware of that."

"Don't you want something?  Like, to interface more or something?"

The sigh that slowly emptied Megatron's vents ended on a tiny growl.  Hot Rod shrank in on himself.  He had to figure out what Megatron wanted.

"Did they reprogram your processor?" Megatron asked quietly.  "Is there Shadowplay involved in this process?"  He hugged him tighter.  "Would you even remember?"

"What?  No!  At least, I don't think so..."  Hot Rod pulled his legs in closer.  Tried to get as small as possible without Megatron noticing.  "I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?"

"I don't know, I just don't know what you want."

"You, Hot Rod.  Look at me?"  Megatron waited until he saw his faint azure optics.  Even if they met his gaze with trepidation.  "I want you, Hot Rod.  But only if you want me.  You owe me nothing.  And while I don't object to paying you, I feel as though I'm forcing myself into your company.  Which is why I want to see you outside of all of this."  He gestured around the room, his hand settling upon his spoiler.  Black on silver.  "Again, it's a selfish reason.  I suppose I want to know that you want me for me.  That you feel the same way.  But I want you to know that I will hold no resentment towards you if you don't, or, again, if you feel it will be unsafe.  And you don't have to give me an answer right now if you don't want to."

A squeak Hot Rod didn't want to make left his voicebox nonetheless.  He hid some more and tried to curl in on himself, but Megatron wouldn't let him get all the way there.

"I'm sorry.  I'm pushing.  I didn't mean to overwhelm you.  I'll stop."

"No, I just...  I don't understand why you care about me?"

Megatron laughed, but there was a tinge of pity to it.  Now even Megatron was pitying him.  Great.

"A spunky little thing like you?"  Megatron rolled onto his back, and took Hot Rod with him.  "I'm still waiting for all the other eligible bachelors to try and steal you from me.  I had expected to be fighting a tide of them to get to you."

Hot Rod tried to hide his face, but there was nowhere to hide from Megatron now.  He could see his smiling face between his fingers, and then his larger hands came in to pull them away, and he didn't resist him.

"Not to mention cute," Megatron said.  Curling Hot Rod's hands into his, he kissed at his silver fingers.  "I would say it should be illegal for you to be this adorable, but then they might lock you away and I wouldn't get to see you anymore."

"They basically have."

"Basically."  Megatron gave him a sad smile that grew into a happier one.  "But not totally?"

"Mm."  Hot Rod rested his helm on Megatron's chest.  Listened to his spark.  Not quite racing, but definitely not resting.  "What did you have in mind?"


	9. Chapter 9

For three tense hours, Hot Rod watched TV.  For the first two hours, the sun lit the room as much as the harsh flashing blue did, but in the last hour the sun set, and soon only the television lit the room.  After enough time passed of not watching the news, he shut it off, turning optics to the inky sky.  The brightest stars shone through, but it was only in the outskirts of Nyon that he'd ever seen any more than a handful. 

Another con.

Hot Rod checked the time.  Still early.  He got up from his berth.  Sleep was inevitable if he stayed there.  Like there was a track in the floor, he made his way over to his vanity table, sitting down in expectation.  But Tracks wasn't there.

Switching on the light above the table, Hot Rod leaned in towards the mirror and inspected himself.  A few years ago, he would have been fine going out like this.  Unless someone got right up in his face, and was actively looking for flaws, they wouldn't notice the tiny scratches in his paint.  In fact, unless Hot Rod turned his helm the right way to have the light catch them, even he couldn't see them.  But Tracks was in his helm.  And this was a special night.  For the first time in a long time, he actually wanted to make himself as flawless as possible.

He pulled the spot buffer from a drawer.  Turning his helm this way and that, he rid himself of all the tiny, imperceptible scrapes.  He gave a satisfied nod once his helm gleamed, but as he leaned back to look at himself, it still didn't feel like enough.  He was presenting himself as though Megatron were just a client to him.  And he wasn't.  Not anymore.  He deserved Hot Rod at his best.  _Better_ than his best.

The drawer Hot Rod went for was one Tracks never opened, and one he seldom allowed Hot Rod to get into.  Inside was a lone box.  A simple one.  Something another model would never own, or lie if someone asked if they did.  It would have been dusty from neglect if they didn't move him around so much.  What was inside seemed to generate a light of its own, but he didn't care about anything on top.  He dove his hand in.  Right to the bottom.  Where below all manner of glitzy objects that were " _far too tacky for the runway_ " that sang a garbled song of clinks and jingles as he reached for the one treasure he'd been saving for years.  Something he'd picked up in Nyon the one and only time he'd managed to take a vacation.  From the store he'd longed to go into, but never had been able to afford until then.

He carefully applied it to the centre of his chest.  Right where the filigree swooped down and back up.  Like they had meant to apply something there but had forgotten to.  And while in the dark it was pretty, when Hot Rod leaned into the light, the real show began.  A bloom of red sparkled around the gem.  If bots could have red sparks, one might mistake it for that.

There.  Now he was perfect.

With a giggle and a skip to his step, Hot Rod shut off the light at his vanity table and made his way to the door.

He opened it manually.  Only as far as he needed to slip through without scratching himself up.  Then, as quietly as possible, he closed it behind him, checking both ways down the hall, and finding it empty.  All the good models were tucked away in their rooms.  Their good managers, too.  Thankfully, Tracks would have to come a few floors down to find Hot Rod out of berth.  And he'd have to come from the elevator.  The opposite direction Hot Rod headed.

The door to the stairs squeaked when Hot Rod opened it.  It continued to squeal until it slammed behind him, and by then Hot Rod was already rushing down the steps as quickly as he could.  Adrenaline tore through his veins and somehow made the matte grey surrounding him vivid.  He didn't stop until the cool night air hit his plating, and even then he only stopped to transform.  As soon as he was in his alt mode, he was off.  Slowly, to start.  His engine purred with the promise of much more to give, but it was only once he was a few blocks away did he really open it up.

Wind rushed over the fresh wax.  Tickling him.  Chilling him right to the protoform in the best way.  And when he drifted around a corner, oh, yes...  He'd missed this.  He took the long way to the coordinates Megatron had given him.  But he made sure to get out of the city as quickly as he could.  Less cameras.  Less bots.  Less of a chance for things to go wrong. 

Megatron's coordinates took him far beyond city limits, anyways.  Out beyond the wastelands, up one of the surrounding mountains.

The terrain grew rough.  Oh, frag, what if he dented up his alt mode?

Hot Rod transformed.  It would take a little longer to get there, but so far all he has was a few scratches that could be easily buffed out.  Tracks might not think Megatron was worth it, but he was, though perhaps not so much as to completely ruin his career.  A buff though?  He was worth a thousand buffs.  Hell, maybe even a few waxes, too.

By the time he reached the mountain peak, he was huffing.  He took a moment to rest, his hands on his knees, and then rechecked the coordinates.

Not much further.  Somewhere close by, Megatron waited for him.

The rest of the trip still forced him uphill, but it was a much gentler incline than before.  He could probably do it in his alt mode, but the path got pretty narrow in places.  It wasn't worth the risk.

And then he saw him.  Broad shoulders silhouetted over the lights of the city.  Hot Rod ran to him.

"I'm sorry I took so long," Hot Rod apologized  "I-it's the alt mode, I can't, you know, I can't mess it up.  I'd be in a lot of trouble and—"

Megatron silenced him with a kiss that had Hot Rod melting in his arms.  He went to release him, but Hot Rod deepened it, wrapping his arms around his neck.  Megatron smiled against him while Hot Rod hoped he would shut him up more.

"You're here now," Megatron murmured against his lips, not quite ready to pull away.  "That's all that matters."

Their next kiss was soft and unhurried.  Like a kiss given under breezy sheets in the hazy morning light.  Like their responsibilities had melted away and they had all the time in the world.

Hot Rod smiled blissfully and giggled a little as Megatron's ventilations tickled his face.

"I wish I could fall asleep next to you," Hot Rod whispered when their lips parted.  Megatron kept their forehelms together, his optics shut, as he pulled Hot Rod's waist closer.  "Hell, I wish I could see you when I wanted to.  I wish I could bring you up to my room and waste the day with you.  It wouldn't be a waste, then."

"I do, too," Megatron responded quietly.  "But I am happy to hold you, all the same."

Hot Rod chuckled.  "Well, now I just sound selfish."

"I'm happy..."  Megatron took a lax hold of Hot Rod's chin, tipping it up.  "...but I would give anything to call you 'mine.'"

"I'm yours," Hot Rod said without hesitation.

Megatron shook his helm.  "You haven't the free will to give yourself to anyone."

"Don't care."  Hot Rod hugged him at the waist, nuzzling against his chest.  "I'm yours."

Megatron chuckled, embracing him just that much more.  "Maybe one day..."

Hot Rod slowly opened his optics, seeing Kaon glowing below them.  He couldn't help but whisper, "Wow..." as he took it all in.  The sight made him feel big and impossibly small all at the same time.  "It looks so tiny from here, and yet, there's so many bots down there just... just living their lives."  He slowly pulled away, but Megatron snatched up his hand before he could wander off.  Hot Rod gave it a squeeze as he turned back to look at Megatron.  "How long have you lived here?"

Megatron thought for a moment and then shook his helm.  "Too long to remember."

"Wow," Hot Rod repeated. 

"It's home."

"I'll bet."

"The city view is beautiful, but..."  Megatron turned Hot Rod so he looked over the bleaker horizon.  " _This_ is why I brought you up here."

Hot Rod's helm fell back and his mouth went agape with wonder.  A swath of glittering stars met his widening optics, trying to drink it all in.

"Wow," Hot Rod whispered.  "It's beautiful.  Though, not as beautiful as—"  He bit his glossa.

Megatron tipped his chin up so he would look him in the optics.  "As beautiful as you?"

Playfully shoving him and giggling, Hot Rod said, "Shut up.  I bet you use that line on everyone you bring up here."

Megatron shook his helm.  "I never had much time for romance."

"Uh huh."  Hot Rod hugged him all the same.  "I _totally_ believe you."

"Would you believe that I was just waiting for the right bot?"

Hot Rod scoffed.  "You're way too suave.  And no one's waiting for me.  I'm the one they warn you about if anything."

"Never did care for those warnings."  Megatron smiled.  "Why don't we sit?  Unless you have somewhere to be?"

"Sleeping," Hot Rod joked as he and Megatron sat.  "Like a good little model, I should be getting my beauty sleep.  Because apparently sleep is all you need to be beautiful."

Megatron laughed.  "If anything I'm doing the other models a favour.  If you got any more beautiful there would be no contest.  You'd be rolling in credits."

"Heh.  Yeah..."  Hot Rod leaned towards Megatron.  They weren't touching anymore.  Should he hold his hand?  Lean his helm on his shoulder?  Frag, it had been forever since he'd been on a date.  Was this a date?  Megatron made it sound like it was, but... they were just looking at stuff. 

"What's this?" Megatron asked.  He reached towards Hot Rod's chest but did not touch him, pointing towards the jewel in the center of it.  Dark and dim lines from the moonlight surrounded it, like a dark red bloom.  "You didn't have that on before."

"Oh, it's..."  Hot Rod covered it as an unseen redness spread across his cheeks, feeling suddenly embarrassed.  "It's nothing.  Just something from my hometown.  A little extravagance.  Once I had the cred for it."

"It's pretty."

"Thanks."  Hot Rod smiled and scooted closer.  He went to rest his helm on his shoulder, but hesitated.

"Go ahead," Megatron reassured him.  "I'm afraid I'm not the most comfortable bot, however."

"Mm."  Hot Rod's helm found home.  "It's perfect."

They stayed like that for some time.  Just looking at the stars and enjoying each other's company.  A little later, overcome with the happiness flooding his frame, Hot Rod hugged Megatron's arm, snuggling against it.  All that was missing was the trip home, and the berth that they would share as they drifted off to sleep and then wake tangled up in each others' arms. 

Hot Rod held onto that fantasy for a while longer.  He could dream.  If only for now.

"What's your full name?" Megatron asked out of the blue.  So much for dreaming.  "What place was lucky enough to have a spark like yours bloom to life there?"

"Does it matter?"  Hot Rod snuggled closer, but angled his helm so that Megatron couldn't see his face.  He brought a hand up to cover the jewel and his now tightening spark.

"I suppose not," Megatron answered.  "But I always thought that romantic proclamations sounded far better when a bot's full name is used.  If you wish to be Hot Rod and nothing more, that's fine."

"...You don't want to know."

"Why not?"

"Just... just trust me."

Megatron watched Hot Rod sadly as he turned away from him and practically curled into a ball.  He touched his shoulder, intending to comfort him, but he flinched away from the contact.

"I don't care if you were Constructed Cold, if that's it," Megatron said.  "You don't have to disclose that, either.  You can tell me as much or as little about your past as you wish.  As long as you let me have some of your present, and hopefully, your future."

"No, I'm Forged, but—not that it matters!"  Hot Rod turned panicked optics to Megatron for a moment.  "I don't care either.  And you don't have to tell me, either."

Megatron said nothing.  Had he offended him?  Maybe he shouldn't have said anything...

The silence stretched on.  At first it was bad, but not so terrible, but the longer Megatron stayed silent the worse Hot Rod felt, and the more he felt like he'd ruined this relationship before it could even start.  He didn't really know him.  He made him feel so good, but... this was dangerous.  They were kliks from other bots, and no one knew where Hot Rod was beyond Megatron.

He... he wouldn't feign interest in him just to kill him... would he?

"N... Nyon," Hot Rod said nervously.  He looked at his hands, noticing then just how much he was shaking.

"I'm sorry?" Megatron said, without any nervousness.

"My full name," Hot Rod somehow managed to speak even more quietly, "is Hot Rod of Nyon."

"Nyon, hm?"  Megatron turned thoughtful optics to the city.  "I've never met someone from there."

Hot Rod froze.  His hands still shook a little, but he could mostly hide it.  He even held his ventilations.  All that moved was his optics, watching Megatron intently.  There was no way he was dying up here, to be found eons later by someone wandering out from the city.  By that point, his frame would have rusted beyond recognition.  Tracks would have already moved on to the next rookie waiting in line.  "Hot Rod, who?" he would ask.

He didn't matter to anyone.  Not anymore.

"Did you think I would look at you differently?"  Megatron tilted Hot Rod's chin up, but he kept his optics down.  Until Megatron said, "Because you're right.  I am going to look at you differently."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided not to be too mean and leave that cliffhanger. Hope y'all don't hate me now.

Hot Rod's spark plummeted into his roiling tank.  He should run.  He should.  He _would_.  But he didn't.  He couldn't move.  Maybe... maybe this was his fate.  Maybe he was too stupid to survive on this Primus-forsaken planet.  If he wouldn't be missed, what was the point? 

But maybe... maybe Drift would still miss him.  If he even remembered his name.

He flinched when Megatron turned towards him.  He met those intense red optics with his own wide and scared blue.  Just staring.  Waiting for him to do something.

Megatron leaned towards him, his optics slowing shuttering.

Hot Rod kept his optics open while Megatron kissed him, more confused now than anything as his hand came up to cup his cheek.  He searched for any sign of disgust in Megatron's optics, but they were warm as he stroked at his face and finials.

"I'm going to look at you differently, because I know that you trust me enough to tell me this."  Megatron kissed his forehelm.  "Where you come from shouldn't define you.  Tarn isn't any more respected than Nyon.  But that doesn't matter.  What matters is what you do with the gift of life."

Hot Rod scoffed.  "Parading around with a flashy finish."  Optics on the ground, Hot Rod drew spirals in the dirt.  "I'm not exactly doing anything remarkable."

"Without any power, neither you nor I would get very far," Megatron pointed out.  "If anything, I'm the one who isn't doing enough."

"You've got your job," Hot Rod sighed, "and I've got mine."

"I want to do more."  Megatron got a faraway look as he looked out over the city.  "I always told myself if I ever got here that I _would_ do more.  But I got caught up in the parties and the extravagancies of it all, just like the rest of them."  Resting his forehelm on the top of Hot Rod's, he asked, "Can I even call them a 'them' anymore?"

Hot Rod snuggled closer.  "I feel that."

Megatron laughed sarcastically.  "You don't have power, Hot Rod.  You barely have _freedom_.  Even now, you're breaking some arbitrary rule just to make some senator think that you're his plaything for an hour!"

Hot Rod did his best not to flinch or shrink.  His knees still came closer to his chest.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Hot Rod."  Megatron pulled him in tightly, stroking his spoiler.  "I could tell you a million times that my anger is never directed at you and it still wouldn't make a difference would it?"

"I'm trying."  He squeezed his optics closed until he saw lights.  "It's hard."

"No, this is my fault.  I will do better.  But you don't have any power.  You’re doing what you can with what you were given."

"But once I make it."  He struggled out of his hold so he could look at him.  "Tracks says I'll have way more freedom and choice.  So... I just gotta make it, yeah?"

"And here I am..."  Megatron tangled their fingers together, bringing their combined hands to his mouth and pressing a gentle kiss to each knuckle.  He sighed.  "And here I am keeping you from achieving that."

"No, no!"  Hot Rod stroked Megatron’s sagging face with his free hand.  "I'm here of my own volition.  And no one is going to find out if we're careful, yeah?  No one saw me leave, and I'll be back before everyone wakes up." 

The reassurance he gave helped to quell his own anxiety.  He wanted to enjoy this time together instead of worrying.  So, he craned his neck to kiss him and do just that, but Megatron still had to lean down to join them.  He followed through, after a moment's hesitation.  Then he decided he liked it there.  His free hand came up behind Hot Rod's helm to hold him there.  After a few more blissful seconds passed, he slowly released him so that Hot Rod could murmur, "And besides...  All the power and freedom in the world wouldn't be worth it if I couldn't have moments like this."

Their denta shone brighter than the city below, until their lips came together to douse that light again.  A light meant only for them in these most precious of moments.

A prick of anxiety awaited Hot Rod’s ever-running processor as they pulled apart once more.  “You… you do want this, yeah?  Like… to date?”

“Court,” Megatron clarified.  “I intend to _court_ you.  As much as I can.  I can’t make any _proclamations_ or—”

“I prefer it that way, honestly,” Hot Rod interrupted.  More anxiety rushed in, but he pushed through it when Megatron smiled.  “I mean, it’s nice, but… if I’m gonna be conjunx with someone—not!  That I’m expecting that or anything.”  He laughed nervously.  “But I, uh, I like to keep that part of my life kinda private.  Not like private-private but just not _yelling_ about it, y’know?”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re cute when you ramble?”

Hot Rod’s face grew warm.

“I like you, Hot Rod.”  Megatron tugged him closer.  “Know that.  I enjoy my time with you.  Whatever that entails.”

Hot Rod snuggled closer, shutting his optics.  They sat in silence for another long while, and there wasn’t a single moment where Hot Rod felt the need to fill it with anything.  He wasn’t schmoozing him or flaunting himself or anything like that.  He just got to _be_.

"I feel so safe with you."  Hot Rod's processor filter must have malfunctioned.  The words hung in the air.  Unable to take them back.  And now he'd left too long of a silence to say something else and hope that Megatron wouldn't notice.  He just stared ahead, his optics getting wider the longer Megatron was silent.  Maybe he should run.

"Can I kiss you, Hot Rod of Nyon?"

Very few bots had ever used his whole name.  Not without the scorn in their voice as they all spat out the word "Nyon."  Starscream hailed from Vos.  Knock Out, all the way from Velocitron.  And every other model, or at least the ones Hot Rod knew, came from a city they could name with pride.  Many already came from a place of privilege.  But hearing him say it as though there was nothing wrong with his roots, as though there was nothing wrong with him, it made his spark swell.

"Megatron of Tarn."  Hot Rod stopped himself from diving right in.  He wanted to savour this moment.  Secure it firmly in his databanks.  He smiled and rested his forehelm against Megatron's, smiling even wider when he saw the corners of his mouth curl up.  "You can kiss me whenever you want to."

Hot Rod knew just how lucky he was to even be a model, and here he was risking it all for someone he barely knew.  A dumb idea, probably.  Just dumb enough for Hot Rod to do it.

Megatron leaned in, kissing him with such care.  He reminded Hot Rod that there was more to the crushing lips of senators and business mechs.  That perhaps the reward was well worth the risk.  And yet, he held knowledge that could take all of this away from him.  As they parted, Megatron with a smile, Hot Rod found he couldn’t emulate it.  Instead, he rested his helm against Megatron’s shoulder once more so he wouldn’t have to face him when he told him.

"I'm going to Iacon."  Hot Rod kept his helm forward, but he saw Megatron's turn in his peripheries.  "I should have told you earlier, but..."  He swallowed the lump forming in his throat.  "The nature of the business has me moving around all the time.  Iacon in a few days.  Vos after that.  We never stay very long.  Two or three shows.  More, if the creds keep coming.  Honestly, I'm surprised we stayed here as long as we did."  He glanced over at him, and he had turned his gaze back towards the horizon.  "So, I mean, even if we figured out a way to be together, and that's gonna be harder than you think it is.  Like, you know you can't even tell anyone that you're with me, right?"

Megatron didn't say anything.  Didn't look at him.  Hot Rod broke both their sparks.  Cracks creeping along the crystal with each word, and every word left unsaid.  He should have started with this.  He let Megatron think they had a future and lost himself in the same fantasy.

"I'm sorry, I know, I let you think all of this, but I'm supposed to show you a good time, and, oh, god..."  Hot Rod held his helm and tried to curl himself into a ball.  He practically squeaked out, "You hate me, don't you?"

Before Hot Rod could say anything more, Megatron wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him against his chest.  "I would never hate you for something you can't help, Hot Rod."

“But I should’ve told you sooner.”

Megatron chuckled.  “It was too late for me the first time I saw you smile.  And, lucky for you, I have far too much spare time and money to have distance be an issue.  I will follow you wherever you go.”

Hot Rod covered his face, which was certainly as red as it could be, but the night helped to hide his giddy embarrassment.  It all felt a little too good to be true, and if he woke up in his berth alone, he’d be happy to have experienced all of this.  He was happy now, and he could always find this escape.  Megatron would be there when he needed him.

"I have something for you," Megatron said.  He sat up, dislodging Hot Rod to root around in his subspace.  "I'm afraid it's not much, but..."  He presented Hot Rod with a little box.  "I hope you like it."

"You didn't have to get me anything."  Hot Rod accepted the box, knowing he would love whatever it was because it came from him.

"I think I did."  Megatron smiled and nodded towards the box.  "Go on, open it."

Hot Rod excitedly flipped the little latch, and inside he found a tiny little communications device.  At the touch of a button, a little microphone extended out.

"I... don't understand?"  Hot Rod looked at Megatron.  "I mean, thank you, but... why?"

"Well..."  Megatron took it from him, collapsing the microphone and handing it back.  "Not that I don’t mind sending you money, but I thought this would be a more convenient way for us to talk.  If you'd like to, of course.  It’s a closed communication, so only I can contact you on it, and vice versa.”

Hot Rod got to his knees so he could hug him, grinning from audial to audial.

Megatron chuckled, wrapping his arms around Hot Rod's waist.  "I take it you like it, then?"

"I love it," Hot Rod confirmed, pulling back just enough to see his face.  "Thank you.  But, um..."  He dropped his gaze.  "It might not be safe for you to... to call me.  Like, I should call you instead.  You know?"  Tentative blue optics lifted to meet red.

"I understand."  Megatron rested his forehelm against Hot Rod's.  "This won't be easy, will it?"

Hot Rod bit his lip.  He released it when Megatron softly kissed him.

"It's alright, Hot Rod," Megatron reassured him.  "The best things in life are often the most difficult."

"But why me?" Hot Rod asked.  He let his hands slide down to Megatron's chest, and his gaze followed.  "You could have anyone you wanted.  You could have someone you could show off.  Someone important."

He wished he had kept his mouth shut when Megatron released him, but he let him go.

Megatron stood, and Hot Rod's spark sank, but then he held out his hand to him.  He accepted his offer and stood, too, and he tried to keep his spoiler upright, but it sloped down.  At least, it did until Megatron trailed a finger up the edge.  It followed his hand until it sat higher than normal and Hot Rod had to dismiss the interface prompt on his HUD.  Fortunately, and unfortunately, Megatron's hand retreated from his spoiler, but the other remained.  Lifting their combined hands until they were at Rodimus' shoulder height.  His now free hand took to Hot Rod's waist.

"May I have this dance?" Megatron asked, already swaying.

"But there's no music?"  Hot Rod looked at him, very confused.

"We don't need any."  Megatron encouraged Hot Rod to join him in his gentle swaying, and then took him around in little turns that left him feeling just shy of dizzy. 

"'Why me?' you ask," Megatron murmured.  "Well, my dear Hot Rod, you, yourself, said that I could have anyone I wanted, and I want you.  I don't want someone I can show off.  I want someone who makes me want to show them off.  Because I want the rest of the world to know how amazing they are and how important they are to _me_.  But that doesn’t mean I _need_ to show my lover off.  I don’t know what they’ve told you or said about you, but they clearly don’t see what I see, because what I see is someone who is smart, who is talented, and who is _tenacious_."

Hot Rod scoffed.  "I'm just trying to be a better model.  It's not exactly something important to be striving for."

"It's important to _you_.  Tenacity in any form is an attractive quality."

"Really, I'm not that great."  Hot Rod rested his forehelm on Megatron's chest.  "Being a better model is just more freedom.  More pay.  Even if I manage to get there, my career won't last that long.  I don't even know what I want to do once I'm too old..."

Megatron stopped.  He pulled Hot Rod into a tender embrace.

"Sorry, I shouldn't be dumping this all on you.  I mean, I barely know you, and..."  His words tapered off as Megatron tilted his chin up.  "Sorry..."  He let his gaze fall to the side.

"No need to apologize," Megatron murmured.

They were silent for a little while.  Not even the city noise reached them here.  So peaceful...

"Can we dance some more?" Hot Rod asked quietly.  "It's... it's nice.  It feels normal.  Like I'm normal.  Like we're normal.  Like..."

He trailed off as Megatron slowly released him, taking half a step back.  He took a loose hold of one of Hot Rod's hands, putting his other one behind his back.  Bowing down, he left a kiss on the back of his silver hand, shimmering in the moonlight, and it seemed to shimmer that much more after Megatron's kiss.

"Like a proper courtship?" Megatron finished for him as he righted himself.

Hot Rod nodded, his words lost on a gentlemech's gesture.

"Then I ask again: Hot Rod of Nyon, may I have another dance?  One could not possibly satisfy me to your presence."  He pulled Hot Rod in by his waist as he nodded, optics misty with wonder and romance.  Readjusting his hold on his hand, he started them back into their gentle swaying, even humming some tune to give them a semblance of music.

"So you truly like modelling, hm?"

"More than anything," Hot Rod answered truthfully.  "I wish I could race more, but," he shrugged, "it's more than I got to do back in Nyon, so I can't really complain."

"What did you used to do?" Megatron asked.

Hot Rod stiffened.

"Sorry, that was rude of me."  Megatron ran his hand over Hot Rod's spoiler.  "You don't need to tell me."

"No, I..."  Hot Rod looked away.

"I'm not proud of my past either," Megatron empathized.  "Our pasts don't matter.  It's what we do with our present."  He let his forehelm come to rest on Hot Rod's.  "I should do more.  I said I would."

"'Do more?'"  Hot Rod cocked his helm when Megatron looked away.  "What do you mean?"

He shook his helm.  "A conversation for another time.  Let us not ruin this night we have together."

"Alright," Hot Rod agreed, but his tank twisted with unease.

"Though I wish I could take you to all the parties I must attend."

"Sounds terrible," Hot Rod said sarcastically.

Megatron smiled while shaking his helm a little.  "I think I prefer this.  Just the two of us.  No one watching."

"No one judging," Hot Rod agreed.  "It's kind of exhausting to have everyone looking at you all the time."

Hot Rod let out a little squeak as Megatron twirled him out and then back in, now with his back to Megatron's front.

"Can I see you one more time before you go?" Megatron whispered right into his audial.  "Tomorrow morning, perhaps?”

Hot Rod let Megatron spin him around and back against him before he answered.  "I...  I don't know.  I might have time before I leave, but...  Even if Tracks isn’t with me, I don't know where I could see you.  Sneaking out tonight was hard enough."

"And the next city?" Megatron pressed.  “After Iacon.  I want to prepare.  I can’t promise I can always be where you are, but I will do my best.”

"Um.  It's Vos."

"Vos."  Megatron thought for a while.  "That's doable."

"I'll be modelling a flight frame there."  Hot Rod flapped his spoiler, thinking of the wings he'd have.  "Everyone seems to like me in a flight frame."

"I like you in any and all frames," Megatron purred.

“Yeah, but you haven’t seen me with wings.”  He wiggled his frame a little, giving Megatron a flirty glance.  “Just trust me.  If you can’t keep your hands off of me _now_ , oof… we’re in for some trouble in Vos.”

Megatron twirled him around some more, until they were chest to chest again.  “So that’s a hard ‘no’ for tomorrow morning?” he asked. 

Hot Rod groaned.  “I mean… I don’t _want_ it to be.  I have half a processor to sneak you in with me when I go back, but… listen.  I’ve heard some stories about what happens to models who break the rules.  _Bad_ stories.  Like, ‘never heard from again’ kinds of stories.  We have to play this safe.  _Crazy_ safe.  So… please just give me some more time to come up with excuses.  I… will see you in Iacon, yes?  The first show is always the craziest so Tracks probably won’t be keeping too close an optic on me.”

“If I must wait until Iacon, then in Iacon I will meet you.”

Hot Rod’s processor swam with dreams too big for his frame the whole night.  Both in Megatron’s arms, and later when he snuck back into berth just hours before the dawn.  He felt stupid and euphoric and like he was finally able to see the full spectrum of colours. 


End file.
